


Maura Doyle

by HelenaHGWells



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Angst, Dark Maura, F/F, Rizzles, Slow Burn, lots and lots of angst, mob/crime boss story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:05:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 40,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenaHGWells/pseuds/HelenaHGWells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maura's been compromised due to Paddy's shady dealings, and Paddy's enemies are after her while the FBI has failed to keep her safe. She's forced to turn to Paddy and the criminal underworld to keep herself and those she loves safe. She hasn't seen Jane since she's been in hiding, but a chance encounter throws them back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this over at FF.net for a year or so, and just decided I should post it over here as well.

Shots rang out as they rounded the corner into the dimly lit parking garage. Jane went for her gun, pushing Maura back against the wall with just enough time to shield her friend as she caught a bullet in the shoulder.

Jane fell back, crumpling into Maura even as she fought through the shooting pain to raise her weapon again and fire in the direction of the shooter. The man ducked away and the bullet went wide, her arm spasming with the pain and effort of keeping the gun up and absorbing the recoil. Lifting her arm was close to impossible, her shoulder felt heavy and pain radiated out from her wound when she tried to move it.

Maura was on her knees in front of Jane, having pulled her back up against the wall and as much out of sight as was possible. Her eyes were wide in panic as she pulled back Jane's jacket to try and get a better look at the wound, Jane wincing at the movement.

"It looks like a through-and-through. We have to keep pressure on it," Maura was instructing, struggling to keep her voice level as she tried to reassure her friend.

"Maura-" Jane called out urgently, staring over the woman's shoulder.

Maura whipped around to see the shooter advancing towards them. An overwhelming sense of impending doom overtook Jane as she watched the man reloading own gun, and she fought unsuccessfully to lift her weapon again. He was going to shoot them, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Maura's sudden movement took her completely by surprise. In a moment she had grabbed Jane's weapon and spun around to face the man, and as he raised his arm she fired twice hitting him squarely chest. He went down immediately.

Maura stayed frozen, crouched protectively in front of Jane, gun still trained on his lifeless form, tensed for any movement. There was only silence besides Jane's ragged breathing. Jane stared at her friend whose face had been transformed into a mask of focused rage. Maura slowly got to her feet and approached the body, gun still ready, moving carefully until she stood in front of him. He was not dead, but he would be soon. He was groaning quietly and staring up at her, determinedly drawing each rattling breath as his body shut down. She tilted her head as she took in his desperate clinging to life, thinking to herself that it would probably be a kindness to put him out of his misery. This man who had hounded and hunted her and made her life hell, now whimpering here like an animal mown down on a highway.

Jane's heart was pounding as she watched Maura standing over the man, watched her raise her weapon, and fire once into his head. The body jerked as the shot rang out. Then Maura lowered her arm again and walked back to Jane.

Jane was staring at her friend in wide-eyed disbelief but Maura didn't seem to notice. She was working on Jane's shoulder again but her focused expression had started to slip; her hands were shaking and she took a long slow breath to calm herself.

"Maura," Jane said urgently, trying to get the woman to look at her.

But sirens and the sound of reinforcements arriving cut through the silence. Maura's head snapped up and she looked around wildly.

"Maura!" Jane tried again, but yelped in pain as the doctor took her hand and pressed it to shoulder.

"Keep pressure on it," she she said firmly, though Jane didn't miss the crack in her voice. "I have to go."

"Maura no!" Jane cried, desperately trying to think how to reason with her friend, fighting through the fuzziness at the edge of her vision as waves of nausea hit her over and over.

Finally Maura met her friend's gaze.

"You can't protect me, Jane," Maura said fiercely, but her voice softened as she added, "and I can't protect you. I have to go."

A car squealed to a halt behind them and one of Paddy Doyle's cronies threw the passenger door open for her.

"Maura, no…" Jane tried again weakly. The pain was dulling all her other senses as it pulsed through her arm, but even as her vision swam she thought she saw a moment of indecision cross her friend's face.

But it was gone almost immediately. Maura took Jane's head in her hands and pressed her lips to Jane's forehead, trying to communicate the turmoil of feelings that were bubbling up in her chest through hot lips. She pulled back and bent down to Jane's ear.

"I love you," she whispered.

Then she was gone. And Jane felt completely broken.


	2. Chapter 2

Maura stared blankly out the window as Steve drove.

It was the first time she'd seen Jane in months. She'd thought about her friend almost every moment of every day since she had disappeared from protective custody. Since Colin's men had broken into her 'safehouse' and shot the man guarding her. Since she'd called her father, the mob boss Paddy Doyle and begged him to help her.

He'd kept his word; even while he was locked up, even though his second in command Colin Ferguson had made a play for power, there were still men who were loyal to him. Men who had helped her, like Steve, who had risked his life to go with her tonight in a last desperate attempt to get the evidence she needed to put Colin away. To end this madness. To get her life back so she could finally go home, go back to work, back to dissecting bodies and analyzing crime scenes and watching from a safe distance as Jane put the bad guys away.

Jane.

Maura closed her eyes and let her head rest against the glass of the passenger window. She hoped Jane was ok. The bullet had hit her right in the shoulder but it had gone straight through, she was sure of that. It should heal. It was her shooting arm, but she shouldn't be out of commission for long. Not that Jane would ever stop for something as minor as a bullet to the shoulder. Especially not when Maura was missing.

It was the first time Jane had seen her in months. What did she think had happened, when she was called to the homicide at what would turn out to be Maura's safehouse and found her minder's body? Agent Dean must have arrived soon after, must have told Jane what had been going on- that Maura had disappeared so suddenly because the FBI put her into protective custody. That the man lying on the floor in the cheap motel was supposed to be protecting her. That she was missing. That the FBI had no idea where she was.

Maura tried to blink away tears but they spilled over and ran down her cheeks. Had Jane thought she was dead? Had she been angry when Maura had disappeared? When Agent Dean told Jane that it was a choice; that Maura had chosen to leave her friend without a word, knowing that Colin wouldn't stop coming for her, and knowing that it was only a matter of time before Jane would be caught in the crossfire. Did she understand that? Did she understand why? Or did she just think that Maura didn't trust her enough to confide in her?

There had been no time to ask of course. No time for pleasantries, or even for a hurried exchange. It had all happened so quickly. Maura had gone to Paddy's old office, looking for the files on Colin- the evidence she needed to take him down. Paddy was smart; he never fully trusted anyone, not even his second in command. So he kept meticulous records of everything; enough evidence to put Colin away for a long time. She didn't know why Jane had been there; she hadn't expected in a million years to see her friend again. Not until all this was over, until Maura had put an end to it all.

She replayed the moment in her mind: standing in front of the safe in Paddy's office, her back to the door, Steve waiting outside with the engine running.

Maura had heard the deep growl of her voice first.

"Don't move."

Then the click of the safety coming off.

Maura had frozen, the jolt in her chest starting towards elation and then quickly spreading into fear. Jane shouldn't be here, couldn't be here, couldn't help her, she had to finish this now, on her own, with Jane at a safe distance. And then another realization.

Jane wouldn't know it was her.

Maura had changed her appearance soon after she'd escaped Colin's raid on the safehouse. Her hair was shorter, straight, and a deep chocolate brown. She had bangs, and she wore pants and flat shoes; more practical, easier to run.

"Show me your hands," Jane's voice came again. "Slowly."

Maura set the file she was holding carefully on the desk beside her, careful not to make any sudden moves, not to spin quickly to face the detective or move towards her, fighting the pull throughout in her body to do so. She had heard the tension in Jane's voice; she mustn't do anything to spook her, no matter how badly she wanted to see her face, to go to her. She must move slowly.

Maura raised her hands, and risked a careful, slow turn of her head, looking back behind her, finally catching sight of Jane poised in the doorway, her wild curls pulled back tightly, her arms stretched out, tensed, gun trained on Maura.

Their eyes locked.

"Jane," Maura whispered.

Recognition spread across the detective's face. Shock, disbelief... happiness?

"Maur...?" she managed to gasp.

"Jane!" Maura's voice broke as she turned fully to face her friend who, in two quick strides had crossed the room and was standing in front of her, arms quickly folding around her, pulling her into a desperate embrace that crashed them together.

Maura felt herself dissolving, even as she fought to maintain composure, fought to maintain the focus she knew she needed to get this done, to end it, to get her life back.

Jane was pressing her head into Maura's shoulder, breathing in deeply as if to steady herself, or to lose herself, to reassure herself that her friend was real, that Maura was here. That she was real, and safe.

Maura closed her eyes and momentarily allowed herself to get lost in Jane.

And then the crack of shots fired broke through their moment of calm. Jane had spun to face the source of the commotion but Maura had known already what was coming. She had grabbed the file, grabbed her friend's hand, and run.

And now Jane was on the floor of a dimly lit parking garage with a bullet hole in her shoulder.

And Maura was alone again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW in this chapter for some pretty descriptive gore and violence in the opening paragraphs.

_The motel room has been thoroughly overturned. The body on the floor has been shot in the leg, accounting for the copious amounts of blood soaked into the carpet and the sheets on the bed as he was bleeding out. But he's clearly been tortured too; fingernails are missing, fingers are broken, one ear hangs loose from his bruised and broken face. The shot to the head is what finally finished him off, god only knows how many hours later. Perhaps the interim medical examiner will be able to give a more accurate timeline..._

_Clothes are strewn about the room, tables overturned, drawers pulled out and tossed aside. A bloodstained jacket lies crumpled on the floor; it's bright yellow, a woman's blazer._

_Maura's jacket._

_Maura was here._

_But why was she here? Where is she now? Whose blood is that?_

Jane snaps awake, immediately squinting against the bright glare of hospital lights. She moves to sit up and pain shoots through her arm, causing her to let out a gasp.

"Jane!" a voice wails and her mother is at her side, fussing and clucking as Jane tries to shake the fog from her head and figure out what's going on.

"Where's Maura?" she finally manages, taking Angela's hand reassuringly and trying to move her out of the way so she can see the rest of the room.

"There's no sign of her Jane," Korsk steps into view. "We put out an APB on the vehicle you saw, but without plates there's not much to go on."

"Do you remember what happened Janie?" her mother's concerned voice comes again.

"Yea, Ma, I was shot," Jane frowns as she tries to piece together the events from earlier that day- Today? Yesterday? How long has it been? "How long have I been out?"

"You went into surgery yesterday afternoon. You've been in and out of consciousness all day," Frost appeared next to Korsak.

"Yesterday?" asked Jane incredulously. "Wait what time is it? It's the evening _the day after_ Maura disappeared? _Again_?"

She moved as if to get up and out of her bed, but firm hands pushed her back down.

"Jane Clementine Rizzoli, did you not just hear what Detective Frost just said?" Angela's voice was carried a warning tone. "You've been in surgery, and you've had a lot of morphine. You were very lucky, the bullet didn't hit the joint and went straight through, but there's a lot of muscle damage. Ligaments and nerves and such. You need time to heal."

"Ma, we just found her" Jane struggled in vain against her mother. "Maura was at Paddy's office- she's alive! We've gotta found out what happened to her. Who's making her do this-"

"There's no indication that anyone's _making_ her to anything," Agent Dean's voice cut in and Jane looked up sharply to see him loitering in the doorway.

The tension in the room kicked up a notch at this unwelcome addition.

Jane glowered at him. "You have some nerve."

"Look, I know I'm not exactly your favourite person right now, but you want answers, right? And I can give them to you."

"Oh a bullet to the shoulder makes me need-to-know does it?" Jane asked, not bothering to mask her disdain.

"We'll uh- we'll give you a minute," Korsak put out an arm to chaperone Angela from the room, Frost quickly following.

Agent Dean watched them go, still hanging back sheepishly,and refusing to meet Jane's eyes.

"So you figured out where Doyle's office was. You knew he'd have information there. Why didn't you tell me where you were going?"

"Because I didn't trust you," Jane snapped back.

"Ok, that's fair" he replied quietly. "Did you know Dr. Isles would be there?"

"No!" Jane said quickly. "I haven't heard anything from her for weeks."

"So you haven't been communicating with her?" he pressed her.

She set her jaw and stared him down. "I haven't seen her since you convinced her leave everyone she knew, everyone who cared about her, and put her trust in the FBI."

He looked away, unable to defend himself against the accusation. His intentions may have been good, but the FBI hadn't been able to protect Maura. The very fact that she was still alive- something he'd seriously doubted until yesterday- was down to Maura herself.

Jane sensed his hesitation and began her questioning immediately. "Who was that guy? In the parking garage. Did you get an ID?"

"Sean Peters. A known associate of Colin Ferguson," Agent Dean slunk further into the room. "He was a hitman- most likely the one who's been going after Dr. Isles. We matched his DNA to that found at a few other crime scenes- at Maura's home after the first- uh- attack, and at the safehouse where Agent Forbes was killed."

Jane's dream suddenly came back in full force as she pictured the sight of Agent Forbes' broken body on the motel floor, and she fought back the wave of nausea that accompanied it.

She took a deep breath to regain her composure. "So that's good right? If this Peters guy is out of the picture now?"

"Not exactly..." Agent Dean replied carefully. "The situation has changed."

"Changed how?"

"We think that Ferguson put the hit out on Dr Isles to stir up trouble between Paddy Doyle and the other Boston crime families. Make it look like someone was targeting her to get Doyle to react- get him to send out a warning to the other players, which to them would read like an act of aggression. Doyle's focus on Dr Isles and her mother has proved to be... unpopular to some of his crew. The perception is that he's risking lives to protect two women who have nothing to do with the business. Who are none of anyone else's concern."

"Right," Jane continued, "So Paddy appears to go after the other families unprovoked, and Ferguson swoops in and takes the reins, restores order and works things out with the other families. Ousting Paddy Doyle removes the 'problem' and everything goes back to normal."

"Except it didn't quite work out that way," Agent Dean explained. "There are folks who go way back with Doyle; people who are very loyal. And the other families don't trust Ferguson; they see through what he's doing and they don't like it."

"So Ferguson isn't in charge?"

"Not fully," Agent Dean continued. "Some of Doyle's crew switched sides, but there's a lot of in-fighting within the Doyle clan. And the other families can sense the weakness and have started to move. There's a turf war brewing between the Boston crime families."

"Their turf has been established for years- there's never been a reason or opportunity to challenge things," Jane nodded. "Til now. This could be a real shit-storm. But what does this have to do with Maura?"

Agent Dean appeared to be choosing his words carefully as he rubbed his neck. Jane noticed his discomfort and frowned, bracing herself for what was coming.

"We think... that Dr Isles is now posing quite a different challenge to Ferguson. After he put out the hit on her, I asked her to go into protective custody."

"I remember," Jane growled. She wasn't sure she would ever forgive Agent Dean for putting her friend in that position; telling her the only option she had was to disappear without warning, not telling anyone where she was going, cutting all ties. And after all it hadn't done any good- her minder had been tortured and killed, and Maura had gone missing. The FBI hadn't been able to protect her. She would have been better off staying with Jane.

"Well, after the safehouse was compromised and Agent Forbes was killed, we think she turned to Paddy Doyle for help. Like I said, there are still people who are loyal to him, and the family is split on whether to back Doyle or switch to Ferguson. With Doyle in prison, Ferguson was betting that he wouldn't be able to mobilize much support. But he didn't bank on Maura."

Jane's eye widened as she pieced together the implications of what Agent Dean was suggesting.

"You think she's working with Paddy? You think she's going to take over the family business?" Jane was incredulous. "No! That's ridiculous! That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard! Maura Isles the Mob Boss?" she snorted with laughter. "No way."

Agent Dean just looked at the floor.

"No way," Jane said again, no longer laughing, her voice full of conviction. "If Maura turned to Doyle it's because _you_ made her feel like she had no other option. You should never have told her to go into protective custody."

"That was her choice-"

"That's bullshit!" Jane shouted furiously. A nurse looked up warily from across the hall, but didn't intervene.

"It's the truth, Jane," Agent Doyle raised his voice enough to be heard, but he didn't shout. "After Peters went after her at home- she came to me. She asked to be taken in. She was scared- and not for herself."

He gave Jane a long hard look. "Your mother practically lives with her. Your nephew is there all the time. You are _always_ with her. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone became collateral damage. So she took herself out of the equation."

Jane slumped back against the pillow. She knew it made sense. After the so-called 'gas leak' in Maura house that had taken out most of her kitchen, the woman had been distraught. Angela had arranged to look after TJ, and she'd gone to pick him up from Lydia's house so they weren't around when the explosion occurred. But just the thought of it- the possibility- had left Maura a wreck and there was nothing Jane had been able to do to reassure her, except promise that they would find this guy.

Well they had- he was now lying on a slab in the morgue at Boston PD. So why was Maura still in hiding? Would she stay away until Colin Ferguson was brought down too? Was she going to wait for BPD and the Feds to do that, or was she taking matters into her own hands?

"We need to find her, Jane," Agent Dean was speaking again. "The good news is, it doesn't look like Ferguson's guys know where she is either. We think they followed you to that building. We think they've been tailing you since Maura disappeared, hoping you'd lead them to her."

Jane closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. Maura had gone into hiding to protect her, and Jane had done the opposite for Maura. She should have known- why wasn't she more careful?

"Look, Jane," Agent Dean's voice softened as he saw her tortured expression. "We have to work together on this. No more secrets, no more need-to-know. I'll give you access to everything I have. But you have to be straight with me too."

She nodded dumbly, her mind already whirring with thoughts of Maura in the care of mob criminals. Pain was starting to pulse dully in her arm again, making it hard to think clearly.

"Maura could be in some real trouble," Agent Dean was saying. "If she's working with Paddy Doyle then she's with guys who are of questionable loyalty- seasoned criminals, men who have killed. And if she plays this wrong she'll have not only Colin Ferguson but every man with a grudge against Doyle gunning for her."

The way Agent Dean was talking, he didn't sound like he expected Maura to make it to the end of the week. But there was something else worrying Jane, something he didn't know. When backup had arrived at the parking garage, they'd found Sean Peters with Jane's bullets in his body, and she hadn't yet corrected their assumption that Jane had been the one who shot him.

But Jane's mind played over and over again the image of Maura Isles, standing over his body, watching him almost curiously, like he was an object of study. And then without hesitation, shooting him in the head execution-style. Jane's mouth went dry just thinking about it. She had no doubt that she would find her friend, that she would get Maura out, that she would bring her home. What she wasn't sure of, was what sort of person Maura would be.


	4. Chapter 4

The warehouse where Maura had been staying since she fled the FBI safehouse was sparsely furnished, but it had everything she needed. A bed, a desk with a computer, and a chair. She had left all her belongings behind at the motel when she had run, and the few things she'd picked up since were packed in an overnight bag. There was no sense in settling in- she needed to be able to leave quickly if necessary. Her room was a disused office space with a small adjoining washroom, and she would shower at one of a couple of local gyms where she worked out during the week- never the same one two days in a row.

The building was on the waterfront by the docks- it belonged to Steve, and was still operational, though cutbacks meant that it was operated by a minimal staff, and no one remarked as she came and went. They recognised her of course, and they knew better than to say anything. Her room was at the back of the building up a tall flight of stairs. A wall of internal windows looked out over the warehouse floor, and from this vantage point she could observe the activities below and react to any developments. There was also an emergency exit that lead to a fire escape and to the roof, which would serve her well if a swift departure became necessary.

The remnants of a busier time in a better economy were stacked against the far wall; boxes full of files, filing cabinets, shredded paper, all covered in a thick layer of dust. The room was dimly lit with the unnatural glow of dirty tube lights, but a small skylight allowed a shaft of sunlight to break through the gloom each morning.

It was hardly the Ritz. It was, in fact, like no way of life that Maura Isles had ever encountered before. But she could make do with very little when she needed to. And yet this placelessness, the feeling of being hunted, being always on edge- it was wearing on her. She hadn't realized how much until, with frayed nerves and adrenaline coursing through her veins, she had put down Sean Peters like some kind of animal.

When she'd jumped into Steve's car and sped away to safety she'd felt the weight of it all suddenly hit her. The wave of emotion at seeing Jane again, and the accompanying realization of how far away she had drifted, as day after day of living in this bizarre twilight zone had ticked by into normality, only to be confronted so viscerally with the life that she'd lost in the physical presence of her dearest friend.

Her friend who had been shot.

The dispassionate professionalism with which Maura had assessed Jane's condition only minutes earlier had abruptly crumbled into a nauseating fear for the woman's safety. Maura had looked down to see Jane's blood all over her hands- dark and sticky and metallic-smelling.

She had just killed a man. She was covered in Jane's blood. And overcome with shock, as the dual realizations hit her for the first time, she had yelled at Steve to pull over as she flung the passenger door open and wretched violently at the side of the road.

In the first few days of being on the run, she had found herself in floods of tears all the time, unable to fathom how she could possibly get herself out of this mess and get her life back, all while keeping safe the people who meant most to her. Slowly exhaustion and adrenaline had taken over, and the feeling of constant watchfulness and wakefulness, had become a haunted familiarity. She didn't cry any more. She just kept moving.

Turning to Paddy Doyle had not been a decision she'd made lightly. She wasn't even completely sure that he would help her after she'd worked so hard to put him away. She had even told him she wished he was dead. But he had been grateful that Maura had reached out to him; glad to have his daughter admit that she needed him. He had given her an address, and she had shown up on Steve MacAuley's doorstep in South Boston in the middle of the night. He was about the same age as Paddy Doyle, but they were quite different. Steve was unrefined but gentle, and she was discovering he had an awkward humour that was dated and often fell flat. Dad humour. He reminded her a little of Vince Korsak; and though she'd never thought of Korsak as being 'old enough to be her father', she supposed that given Paddy's young age when he had met Hope, that Korsak probably technically was old enough. At any rate, her affection for the detective had allowed room for a feeling of, if not warmth, at least wary trust, towards Steve MacAuley.

He generally made a point of minding his own business, but as he watched her dry-heaving on the edge of the road that night, he had offered up his two cents in gruff reassurance.

"He would have killed you," Steve had told her in the straightforward manner she had come to appreciate. "If you hadn't shot first, he would have killed you without hesitation. And then he'd have killed your friend."

It was small comfort. But as she'd pulled herself together and climbed back into the car, a strange calm had settled over her. It was as if she'd stepped outside of herself and was watching someone else's life unfold. It was oddly reassuring. The feeling of being out of control and constantly on the brink had begun to dissipate, and she'd started to think rationally about her situation. For the first time in weeks, she felt able to remove herself from her subjective experience and really consider her options.

Now she stood in the bare washroom under the bright fluorescent lights of the warehouse, washing Jane's blood from her hands. She considered her reflection in the dirty mirror; hollow eyes stared back at her, framed by dark hair and drawn, pale skin. She knew what she had to do.

She had to take control. Colin Ferguson had to go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs for this chapter: an autopsy on some children, and a dead cop.

Jane had been stuck behind a desk for almost a month. Despite discharging herself from hospital early and arguing long and loud with Cavanaugh that she was ready to go to work, he had allowed her back in the building on the condition that she did not go into the field. For the first couple weeks she wasn't even cleared to drive, she was so hopped up on painkillers. But the idea of sitting around at home 'recovering' while South Boston went to hell and Maura was lost somewhere in the midst of it all was a complete impossibility for her. Cavanaugh heard the edge in her voice and saw the look in her eye, and took the warning from Angela that the best thing for everyone involved was to give her _something_ to do.

Still, had it just been the prospect of Jane Rizzoli on the warpath, the lieutenant might have stood firm and kept her off duty. The truth was he couldn't afford not to have her there. Bodies were coming in almost every day now; the turf war in South Boston was raging in full force. Sometimes it was a hit on a known member of a family or gang, and mostly it was their henchmen that caught a bullet, but a few familiar faces had shown up in the morgue over the past month. Sometimes it was drug dealers on corners exchanging fire, and sometimes- too often- innocent victims became collateral damage. Just that morning two kids from the rowhouses in Doyle's- now Ferguson's- territory had been hit by stray bullets that came through their window from a teenage gunfight on the street. The shooter had been fleeing, spraying bullets wildly over his shoulder as he ran. They hadn't gone anywhere near their intended target, just straight through the bedroom window and into a brother and sister as they'd peaked outside to see what was going on.

Jane stood in the morgue, biting her lip and trying her hardest to stay still as she watched Dr. Pike examine each body with excruciating slowness. If one of her arms wasn't strapped to her chest she felt like she might run over and shake some sense of urgency into him. Come to think of it, that could probably be accomplished with just one arm- she was strong enough...

Just then Korsak entered the morgue, interrupting her fantasy of assaulting the medical examiner.

"Got the bullets yet?" he asked.

"Dr. Pike is still ruminating on the best way to remove them from the bodies," Jane replied with her sweetest smile that did nothing to cover the threatening tone in her voice.

"Come on, Pike," Korsak called encouragingly. "We know what killed them, we know how and where. We just need the bullets for ballistics so we can actually start working on who."

"We know that too, Korsak," Jane pointed out with a frustrated sigh. "We know just about every damn thing about this case and all the others that have come through here this month. We just can't prove it."

"Hence the need for a carefully executed forensic examination!" proclaimed Dr. Pike triumphantly. "Perhaps I can provide some of the crucial evidence you so desire."

Jane gave Korsak a look of complete exasperation. "We need to be out there on the streets. Picking up random gang members is not going to stop this war. We've gotta take out the main players or we're just gonna keep racking up the body count until one side runs out of men or bullets."

"That's what Agent Dean is working on," Korsak said sympathetically. "Building the case against Ferguson so we can take him out of the picture and hope that the Doyle clan's in-fighting will clear up, maybe that whole territory will implode, and things with the other families will settle back down again."

"Yeah well it would be nice if he would share a little of his insight with the rest of us. So much for giving us access to his case files- he hasn't given us shit! All he's done is bug me about whether I've heard from Maura."

"She's still awol?"

Jane nodded. "He thinks I'm lying. Hell, he probably has my phone tapped, just in case." She looked dejected. "I just wish I knew she was ok."

Korsak patted her good arm understandingly. "Dr. Isles is a smart woman. She knows how to take care of herself."

Her old partner gave her a significant look. He knew as well as she did that the old Maura didn't have any street smarts. But since she'd told him the details of how things had gone down in the parking garage, they both knew that it would be a mistake to underestimate this new Maura- the one who had been pushed to the edge and forced to adapt...

"At least when everyone has their own turf, you know who's in charge. People don't step out of line. Why'd Colin Ferguson had to come along and stir everything up?" Jane said bitterly, hating the uncertainty that seemed to pervade everything these days.

"He probably thought it would be a straight-up takeover. He had no idea people would be so loyal to Paddy Doyle."

"Yeah well how bad do you think things are gonna get when Agent Dean takes Ferguson out and there's this huge power vacuum in the Doyle clan? Doyle has the docks- that's good territory. Worth going to war over," Jane said, worrying her lip again as she continued to watch Dr. Pike's slow movements and fastidious documenting. "And right now Dean's entire investigation seems to hinge on finding Maura and using her to take Ferguson out. You know, he thinks Maura could be in a position to fill that void- that Ferguson is going for her because he sees her as a threat. A challenge to his power."

Korsak nodded. "I've heard similar rumblings around the station."

Jane looked at him sharply.

"You haven't told anyone? About-" she glanced over at Pike and dropped her voice to a murmur. "About Maura being the shooter in Peters' death?"

"Of course not, only you, me, and Cavanaugh know that."

She went back staring at Pike as she pulled absent-mindedly on her bandages.

"Do you think he's right?"

"Who?"

"Agent Dean," Jane said in a small voice. "Do you think Ferguson really sees Maura as a threat?"

"How Ferguson sees Maura has no bearing on who she is, or what she's actually likely to do," Korsak said reassuringly. "He doesn't know Maura. We do."

His voice held so much conviction and Jane wanted to believe him. But she knew what Maura herself would say: that under the right circumstances even the most docile individual can be capable of the most uncharacteristic acts- violence, murder even. And how extraordinary were the circumstances in which Maura now found herself? She'd been gone for three months, completely cut off from contact with any of her friends and family, on the run, hunted by police and criminals alike, fearing for her life... Jane had focused on the horrifying possibility that her friend might be changing as a result of her experiences, of having to do terrible things. Because the alternative- that Maura might not even still be alive- was so much worse.

Jane had finally become too antsy to stand in the morgue for another minute, trying to talk Dr. Pike into giving her the bullets that, if they were very lucky, would be matched to a discarded, untraceable weapon, wiped clean of prints and with no DNA. She was tired of chasing dead ends. The only thing that was going to put a stop to the killing was to take out the men at the top. Or more specifically, the man who had started all this.

"Screw this, I'm heading back upstairs to do something that's actually useful," she said to Korsak, already half out the door as she called to Pike over her shoulder, "You'll let me know when you have those bullets ready for ballistics, yeah?"

And then she was racing back upstairs, gone before she could catch Pike's look of disappointment. Korsak chuckled and followed after her.

When he reached the office, Jane was already all over the suspect board, pinning up pictures and names, rifling through old files in an effort to map what remained of the Doyle clan in as much detail as possible. Her desk and those of her fellow officers were already piled high with boxes of old case files; so much old information had been dug up over the last month for cross referencing as old names had resurfaced, old connections been reaffirmed, sides had been switched and alliances tested, people were given up, tips were called in, and old cases became relevant or were reopened. It was an unholy mess.

"Dead," Korsak said as she went to pin a new name to the board. She stopped and looked over at him. "Stabbed in prison three years ago. That one too," he indicated another face on the board.

"Dueling prison-shanks?" Frost looked up from his computer.

"Nah, that one was a heart attack. Too much steak and fries."

Jane grinned at Korsak as he settled into his chair and Frost rounded the desk to stand behind her, watching her work at the board.

"You're mapping the Doyle clan?" Frost asked after observing her rummaging about in various boxes of case files for a few minutes.

"I'm mapping _all_ the families," she corrected, grabbing another box and riffling through the files.

"So we've got the Doyles, the Columbians, the Petrellis, and the gangs in the projects," Jane narrated as she finished her rudimentary groupings of families. "We're never gonna make any headway on this thing until we know who we're dealing with. Til we know who's even still around and who their allegiance is with."

"Dead," Korsak interrupted again as she moved to stick another picture to the board.

Frost let out a slow breath, raising his eyebrows. "We're gonna need to go through a lot more files, and not just murders if we want to really map everyone."

Jane nodded, unphased by the enormity of the task she was undertaking.

"And we're gonna need a bigger board," Frost added.

They continued late into the evening, with other officers pitching in, running down to fetch old boxes of case files from storage. Jane had commandeered Frankie to act as a liaison for the drug unit, and he was adding his own intel from their investigations. Korsak had been instrumental in mapping the older members of the families and filling in the details of old ties and rivalries. Frost sat at the heart of the computer centre in the next room, searching databases as he rolled about the room on his chair, pushing off from one terminal to land at another to check on the status of a search and calling out new information as it came up.

Cavanaugh was standing in his doorway, watching the flurry of activity when Angela arrived.

"What's going on?" she asked him in hushed tones. She'd caught the look of focused determination on her daughter's face and knew better than to interrupt.

"Jane's taking down the crime families of Boston," he replied wryly. "Tomorrow she'll be tackling world peace."

"Well, then she's gonna need coffee. And pasta," Angela announced nonplussed, as if Cavanaugh had told her Jane had decided to tackle a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle.

Angela set off back towards the cafe, and was back in half an hour with a tray-full of sustenance, nearly colliding with her son as Frankie struggled through the door with an armful of new boxes. Jane pounced on him immediately and had the boxes open before he could even set them down.

"Ow! Easy Janie, just give me a second would you!"

"Who wants coffee?" Angela called loudly. "Donuts? Spaghetti?"

Eager detectives swarmed around her while Jane sat down in the middle of the floor with the new boxes, pouring through the files already.

"Coffee Janie," her mother said, carefully placing the cup into her outstretched hand.

"Thanks Ma," Jane didn't even look up.

Her mother shook her head but didn't say anything, heading back into the throng of hungry officers to set aside some of the food for Jane.

"Hey Korsak, who's Steve MacAuley?" Jane called out. "His name keeps coming up but I haven't seen him tied directly to any murders, no drug deals, nothing."

"Not even a parking ticket," Frost's muffled voice came from the computer room- he'd scooted quickly back to his post but not before clamping a donut between his teeth and grabbing a couple more for the road.

"He's high up in Doyle's circle," Korsak said soberly. "We could never find his prints on anything, but you can bet he knows all about Paddy Doyle's dealings. They go way back- their fathers works on the docks together when _they_ were young. The Doyles and the MacAuleys have always been tight."

"That him?" Jane pointed at the wall-monitor in Frost's room, clambering to her feet and heading over to where Steve MacAuley stared back from a not-so-covertly taken surveillance picture.

Korsak followed her and regarded the man projected onto the wall.

"Yup, that's him."

"I know that guy- he was there the night Peters died," Jane said, still staring at the picture. "He was driving the vehicle that took Maura."

Korsak and Frost exchanged a look.

"Well I guess that would make sense," Korsak said slowly. "MacAuley was always loyal to Paddy Doyle."

"And Maura is technically a Doyle," Agent Dean's voice cut into the quiet of the computer room.

Jane whipped around to see him lurking in the doorway.

"We knew she had to be working with someone," he continued.

"We don't know _anything_ ," Jane interjected with barely-contained fury. "We could fill up a board twice that size with all the things we _don't_ know about Maura's situation right now!" she indicated the suspect board in the other room, which was now in fact four separate boards that had been lined up next to one another.

Agent Dean walked nonchalantly into the main office and regarded their day's work.

"Impressive," he noted in a tone that seemed calculated to hide any genuine surprise.

"Yeah well, the FBI wasn't being exactly forthcoming with their intel, so we had to get creative," Jane shot back as she followed after him, standing combatively with her hands on her hips.

"I'm working on that, Jane," Agent Dean said, somewhat apologetically. "You think the bureaucracy is bad at Boston PD? Getting clearance for inter-agency intelligence sharing takes time."

Jane gave a derisive snort and pointed her finger at him, gearing up to launch into a tirade of condescending takedowns.

But she didn't get the chance. At that moment Frankie burst into the office, panting hard like he'd just run up ten flights of stairs.

"A cop's been shot!" he announced to the room.

Everyone fell silent immediately and turned to stare at him as he continued. "The Doyle clan's territory. Or I mean Ferguson's," he corrected himself. "By the docks."

He didn't manage to get out any more details before everyone was grabbing jackets and badges and guns and running for the door.

Agent Dean watched the room clear out in seconds, and then slowly turned back to the board. He regarded the detailed map of faces, names, nicknames, ranks, and the web of differently coloured string that wove them all together, illustrating the complex connections. Then he picked up a lone picture from Jane's desk, walked to the board that hosted the Doyle clan, and pinned it in the centre. Picking up a pen, he neatly wrote a label underneath: Maura Doyle.

"Like it or not, Jane," he said to himself softly, "she's right in the middle of all this."

* * *

Across town, a car pulled up quickly to a darkened warehouse. An older man stepped out and walked around the vehicle to open the passenger door. Maura Doyle stepped out, nodding her thanks to the man as she strode quickly inside, followed by a stumbling younger man who was covered in blood.

She could hear the sirens wailing in the distance, tearing towards the docks. Towards the crime scene. Towards the body of a dead officer.

"Hurry," she instructed. "We don't have much time."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Description of the shooting death of a cop in this chapter.

Maura quickly gathered her belongings from her room in the warehouse- grabbing the overnight bag that was always already packed and stowing her computer inside it, alongside the wads of cash she had withdrawn when she first went on the run. There were a couple of pictures on the desk which she had managed to keep with her through her many moves and changing locations; they usually lived in her wallet, but she took them out and placed them on the desk beside her sometimes as she worked. It was nice to have them with her, but she would often forget to actually look at them, and sometimes needed that- to remind her of what she was trying to get back to. An old faded photo of her at ten years old, with her parents, vacationing in the Alps; a snap of the Rizzoli family at her house for thanksgiving dinner; a candid shot that Frankie had taken of she and Jane after they finally finished the Boston Marathon, late in the evening after solving a murder on the fly. She quickly swept them into the open bag, along with the file on Colin Ferguson that she had stolen from Paddy Doyle's office.

That damn file- she'd made no headway with the information it contained in the month since she had managed to retrieve it. She had laid plans, she had investigated, she had thought non-stop of ways to get rid of Colin Ferguson. But it all hinged on figuring out what dirt Paddy had gathered on him, and the meaning behind the information in the file remained elusive. It was only a list of names, none of which she recognised, and neither did Steve.

She had spent hours online searching through news reports for any mention of the people named, but to no avail. She wished she could access Boston PD's databases- she had the clearance, but they would know immediately when she logged in, and she would be traceable; Frost would track her down in no time. She couldn't even get to Paddy to ask him about it- there were gang members and police looking for her everywhere. She was in a precarious position, trying to operate outside the law, but not breaking it, and the balancing act was proving increasingly difficult. Somehow, staying alive- and staying hidden in order to do so- had itself become a fulltime job. She needed more time to figure out what to do. Maybe there would be time now... after today.

The night had started out so placidly. She had been going through the list for what seemed like the thousandth time, trying to come up with new ways to approach the names- new avenues of research, or maybe even a way to get into the law enforcement databases. She'd been hoping to catch a break, but it came in a form she could never have anticipated, nor would she ever have wished for it.

Steve had come upstairs after the rest of the employees had clocked out for the day, letting her know he was going to lock up.

"Making any progress?" he had asked.

"None," she had sighed, setting down her pen and rubbing her eyes before leaning back in her chair to stretch out her limbs, which were starting to cramp from sitting so long.

"Maybe I can get out to Cedar Junction on the weekend, ask Paddy about it directly," Steve suggested.

"Perhaps," she replied noncommittally, knowing that her father was being closely monitored in the maximum security prison, and Steve's visit would draw attention, alerting investigators and gang members alike to Steve's presence, and perhaps the renewed scrutiny would reveal his connection to Maura.

"We've known each other a long time," Steve said, guessing her thoughts. "Nothing unusual about old friends reconnecting."

They didn't have the opportunity to discuss the matter further, as Steve's phone started to ring. He frowned as he recognized the number on the display, and excused himself to answer. Maura smiled to herself at his manners; Steve MacAuley was a man with little formal education and some questionable connections, and he had a keener sense of polite behaviour and decorum than most of the men she interacted with on a daily basis in her normal life. There was no sense of entitlement about him; only- bizarrely, given the circles in which he moved- a strong sense of justice, and of right and wrong.

But her smile faded as she caught the change in his tone, and his rising voice.

"No! No don't come here! You cannot come here, do you understand me? Connor! Connor?"

Whoever was on the other end of the call had hung up.

Maura was watching his expression intently. The older man was visibly agitated, and she moved to put a reassuring hand on his arm.

"Steve?" she asked gently. "What's going on?"

"My nephew," he explained, shaking his head in disbelief. "He shot someone. He thinks it was a cop... He's coming here-"

Steve didn't get another word out, as the gloom was shattered by the piercing headlights of a car pulling up at speed into the warehouse parking lot. He looked horrified, and seeing his reaction, Maura felt truly afraid for the first time since the man had taken her under his wing. Steve's steady pace and unflappable appearance had been reassuring while everything else had seemed so uncertain. Now she saw a look she had never seen on him before: panic.

The older man was racing down the stairs and out into the darkness with a speed that surprised Maura as she ran hard on his heels. They reached the car together where it was parked haphazardly in front of the main doors, headlights still on, doors flung open. A young man, no older than twenty-one, was struggling with something behind the rear door.

With some _one_.

As Maura approached she saw the body of a blood-soaked man lying in the back seat. She felt her stomach drop like a stone as she recognised the blue uniform, and caught the glint of a badge on his chest. He was a cop. And he was still alive.

"You have to help me!" Connor was yelling through choked sobs. "Please, Uncle Steve! He's gonna kill me. I screwed up so bad- he'll kill me if he finds out!"

" _I'm_ gonna kill you!" Steve thundered. "What the hell have you done? You brought a dead cop into _my house_?"

"He's not dead," Maura said in a small voice, but Steve didn't seem to hear.

Connor did, however, and he jerked to attention. "She's a doctor!" he shouted, pointing wildly at Maura. "She can fix him! You have to fix him!"

"I can't," Maura said incredulously, stepping around the boy to get a better look at the man in the back of the car. "He's very badly injured. This man needs surgery- he needs to go to a hospital, now!"

"I can't take him to a hospital!" the boy wailed. "Can't you do something?"

"No she can't!" growled Steve menacingly, pushing his nephew back against the car. "And you either have some nerve or you're just plain stupid to come down here and bring this mess to my door after everything you've done. You walked out on this family. You made your choice. Why don't you go and ask Colin Ferguson for help?"

Maura's head jerked up at the mention of Ferguson.

"I didn't chose sides- it wasn't about choosing! I didn't think there was a side to choose! Paddy Doyle was gone, and Ferguson was in charge. It was time- time for a change."

"I taught you better than that," Steve shook his head dismissively at Connor's pleading. "I taught you about honor, and loyalty. What Ferguson is doing is dirty and underhanded, and it's men like you that are allowing him to do it. You made your bed. You'd better lie in it."

"He'll kill me," Conner slumped back, dejected. "There'll be no forgiveness. He'll kill me for this. It was an accident, but he won't care. All he'll care about is that I shot a cop on his streets. It'll come back on him. Unless he gets rid of me..."

Maura was watching the scene unfold in silent horror. The officer was going to die- there was nothing she could do for him here, and he wouldn't make it to a hospital in time to save him. She was filled with impotent rage. She wanted to scream at this stupid boy who had shot an innocent man. But what good would it do? He was no better off- not if Colin Ferguson found out. He was a dead man walking. So many lives ruined by the actions of one power-hungry man.

She crouched down next to the officer in the car and felt his neck for a pulse. There was none. She let out a slow breath as she carefully closed the man's eyes.

"Oh no," Connor watched her, horrified. "No, no NO! This can't be happening! What am I gonna do? He's gonna kill me! There's a dead cop in his car!"

"What?!" Maura snapped to attention. "What did you just say?"

She was back on her feet in a moment and seemed to tower over the young man, who was now rather less hysterical and fairly humbled by the authority with with Maura addressed him.

"Yea..." he began haltingly. "I drive for Ferguson. This is one of his cars. I drove him earlier today. Well, for part of the day, just to meetings; he drove himself back."

"Colin Ferguson drives this car?" Maura clarified. "He was seen driving it today?" She was looking at him intently as he nodded in confirmation, squirming under the fierceness of her gaze.

"Tell me everything," she instructed.

In a few minutes, under Maura's careful questioning, she had established that Ferguson maintained several vehicles, none registered to him, which he drove or was driven in at various times. Earlier that day, he had attended a meeting to which he had not wished to be followed by the FBI surveillance team who were tracking his every move. So, as was his custom, he had been driven by Connor to another location, at which another car- the very one which was now covered in the recently-spilled blood of Boston's finest- was waiting. He discretely switched vehicles and continued on to his private meeting alone. Connor had then picked the car up later that day and headed down to the docks to engage in his own illicit activities. While parked illegally, the car had drawn the attention of a police officer. Connor had noticed this on returning to the car and panicked.

Connor's hysterics returned as he reached the last part of the story. It seemed that his erratic behaviour had further drawn the suspicion of the officer, who had attempted to question Connor. Weapons had been drawn, shots fired, and the cop went down. Realizing the gravity of his actions, Connor had done what he could for the man, before dragging him into the car and driving as fast as he could to the one person who might still be on his side, trusting that family still meant something to his uncle.

This had all occurred within the last thirty minutes, Maura was busy calculating. It was possible no one had yet discovered the officer was missing.

"Did anyone see you? Was anyone around to hear the gunfire?" she prodded.

"No" he shook his head vehemently. "No I didn't see anyone down there- the docks are mostly deserted these days. People don't wanna be caught out on the streets at night with the way things have been going."

"What are you thinking, Maura?" Steve eyed her uncertainly.

"Ferguson drove this car; his prints will be all over it. We have a dead officer who was shot in Ferguson's territory. There's no witnesses that we know of, and Ferguson has no idea that this has happened."

"You're not thinking- we can't frame him!" Steve was incredulous. "This is a cop! Boston PD will be all over this. They'll find out the truth. The evidence-"

But Maura quickly cut him off.

"I am the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. The evidence will say whatever I want it to."

This man's death would not be in vain.

Working a crime scene backwards was an unfamiliar exercise, but it didn't take much of a mental leap for Maura think through the logistics. She quickly formulated a list of supplies and sent Steve to gather them while she went over the dead officer's body for trace evidence using the rudimentary tools she had at her disposal. Signs of Connor were everywhere- she could read his panicked actions on the man's clothes and, though she didn't have the time to examine him too closely, she suspected his body would show bruising consistent with someone having applied pressure to stop the bleeding, and from having tried to revive the man. There wasn't much she could do to mask _how_ he died, but she could influence a retelling of _who_ had killed him.

The next couple of hours were a flurry of activity. They hosed down the car and wiped it to get rid of most of the prints, Maura careful to leave enough evidence, but not too much; just pointers would allow Boston homicide to begin reconstructing the narrative without feeling that it was being told to them. Hints that would allow Jane to make the connections that were always so clear to her, even if the evidence didn't say so _conclusively_. She would guess, and Maura would make sure the evidence supported her guesses.

They hurried back to the scene where the officer had been shot, knowing that they were short on time, mindful that when he was reported missing the police would begin the search at his last known location. Maura carefully ensured that they removed any trace of evidence that Connor had been there. Then they raced back to the warehouse to lay out the dead officer in a way that seemed calculated to send a message.

"Hurry," Maura instructed, hearing the sirens in the distance and knowing the officer's abandoned car must have already been discovered- that they knew he was missing. "We don't have much time."

The implications of her actions were beginning to sink in. Interfering with a crime scene, falsifying evidence, accessory to murder... this was not an attractive resume. She'd compromised so much in the last few months, she was starting to lose sight of herself, and she did not like the person she was becoming.

"Do you have the murder weapon?' she asked Connor, pushing these suffocating thoughts from her mind and forcing herself to focus on the situation at hand.

"What?" He had been in a daze all evening, clearly having no idea what they were doing, or if it would work, or why Maura was doing it at all. He just followed orders, and followed behind his uncle, casting wary and uncertain looks at the doctor as she worked her mysterious science.

"The gun," Maura clarified irritably.

He quickly produced it and Maura wiped it down, erasing his prints.

"Wear gloves," she instructed him, "and take this with you to see Ferguson tomorow. You need to get it into his building- can you do that?"

He shook his head uncertainly. "They- they make us check our guns and phones at the door. No one goes in armed."

"That's good," she said, nodding to herself. "Leave it there."

"Wha-?"

"When you check your gun!" Maura raised her voice impatiently. Connor's ineptitude was beginning to grate on her. "Don't pick it up again. Leave it at Ferguson's office."

"Ok..." he replied in slow understanding. "Then what?"

"Then we wait. Drive the car back to Ferguson's, and leave it in its place. The police will come before long. Until then, you just go about your business as usual."

"And then what? When they find the car, Ferguson will know I was the last one driving it. He'll tell the cops. Or he'll have me killed!"

"You come to me," Steve said firmly. "When the police come to search Ferguson's place, you leave as soon as you can and come directly to me. I'll say you were with me all evening. You came for dinner. We laid to rest old grudges; made peace."

"When they arrest Ferguson, you won't have to worry about him coming after you," Maura assured him. "The police will think he killed a cop. The FBI will be all over this. No one in his circle will be able to so much as park in the wrong place without it being reported. Now go on."

Connor nodded, and loitered uncertainly for a moment, staring at the gun in his hand.

"Go!" Maura snapped finally, and he jumped into action, pocketing the weapon, hopping in the newly cleaned car, peeling out of the lot and heading into the night.

Maura watched him go, now uncertain herself. The wheels had been set in motion; there was no time for hesitation, no place for doubt.

"Go and get your things," Steve prompted her gently.

She nodded, rousing from her reverie, and hurried inside. She packed quickly, and was back outside with Steve in minutes. Wordlessly, she got into his car and he drove her through the dark, quiet streets, pulling up outside an Irish pub on the ground floor of an old brick apartment building.

"Danny will get you set up," he said, nodding over at the bar. Soft light streamed from the windows that were frosted with condensation, and muffled music, smoke, and laughter poured through the crack in the door as it sat slightly ajar.

She nodded, but didn't move. "Will you be alright?" she asked finally, looking into his eyes with concern.

He smiled gently, his face softening in a way she had only seen when he spoke to her. He reminded her again of Korsak, and she struggled against the memory, trying to keep the two worlds separate in her mind; trying to keep her two _lives_ separate.

"Don't you worry about me," he patted her hand reassuringly. "I can handle the cops."

She nodded, and gathering her things, stepped out onto the street. Since she had been in hiding, only Steve had officially known who and where she was. He was the only one she had trusted. Now all that was about to change. She eyed the bar warily. It was an old Irish hangout; a place her father, Paddy Doyle, had spent many an evening with Steve and with his men. These people were loyal to Paddy, and so they would be loyal to her. Still, her heart was heavy as she walked unwillingly into the bar. With each step she moved further away from Maura Isles. As she pulled open the door, the rowdy conversation lulled and then died as the bar's inhabitants turned to look at her. She took a breath, and stepped into her new life, as Maura Doyle.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Continuing on at the crime scene with the dead officer.

Jane stalked back and forth impatiently in front of the warehouse gates. It was 6am, they'd been out all night, and she hadn't had any coffee yet.

Warehouse employees milled around on the other side of the police barriers that had been set up in front of the gates, marking the periphery of the crime scene. They'd spent the last four hours scouring the neighborhood for the officer's body, or any sign of foul play. The squad car had been located quickly by his colleagues on patrol, and not far away they'd discovered blood- a lot of it- tire tracks, and shell casings. A drunk in a nearby alley had reported hearing shots, but couldn't tell them much more.

The body had only been discovered ten minutes' drive from the original crime scene, but it had taken them hours of walking the streets to get to it. Then there he was- laid out like he was gift-wrapped in front of the locked gates to an old storage warehouse, clearly meant to send a message, although to whom was unclear.

What Jane _did_ know was that there were now two separate crime scenes, both of which needed processing, and a dead cop. She had taken the body dump site, while Frost managed the site of the shooting, and Korsak acted as a liaison between the two. Cavanaugh was preparing to meet with the press, and showed up unannounced at intervals to impress upon everyone the gravity of this situation.

As if they needed to be told. Everyone was on edge- when it was one of their own, the dangers of the job were really brought home. And if they didn't solve the murder, it would send the message that maybe you didn't have to obey the law; that you could get away with killing a cop. Palpable tension filled the air as officers patrolled the barricades, snarling unsympathetically at warehouse employees who dared to ask whether they might be allowed into work today, or commented on needing to get paid.

The warehouse was right on the edge of Colin Ferguson's territory, although it was somewhat questionable to even call it that- the business belonged to Steve MacAuley, a longtime associate of Paddy Doyle, which made this particular part of town contested territory at best.

Steve MacAuley- Jane's eyes had widened as she'd heard the owner's name confirmed from an employee, surprised, and yet somewhere in the back of her mind anticipating the connection. Of course it was MacAuley- his name had come up and again and again as she'd mapped out the Doyle clan. In what was clearly a turf war, a message being sent from one crime boss to another, of course he would be right in the middle of it.

Well, in the middle metaphorically speaking. Where he was physically was a mystery. Uniforms had gone to his house when the scene was discovered, but he wasn't home. Workers had begun showing up at 5:30 to start their shift, and he had yet to join them. Jane was getting increasingly antsy; she needed questions answered. She also had crime scenes to process, and the tension from the other officers was getting close to bubbling over. But that meant it was all the more important to ensure things were done by the book- the last thing they needed was to have someone cut a corner, break chain of custody, or get a little too heated, and allow a cop-killer go free. The responsibility weighed heavily on her. And now with Steve MacAuley bringing a hint of Maura into the mix…

Where was the old man anyway? And why was there never a goddamn coffeeshop when she needed one?

As if summoned by her wish, Frankie was at her side with two large steaming takeout cups. He would usually stomp and pout about professionalism if his big sister ever asked him to go get coffee. But she didn't ask. He had seen the tension in her shoulders and the concern in her eyes when she'd heard Steve MacAuley's name, and he was worried for her. Plus he knew how much was riding on this case, and what she was like in the morning before coffee.

She gratefully took his offering. "Where is this asshole?" she muttered as she managed to keep herself still long enough to take a sip.

"Take a breath, Jane," Frankie put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We've got a BOLO out on him. We've got the highways covered. If he tries to leave Boston we'll find him."

"No," she shook her head. "He's not gonna run. This isn't him," she indicated the crime scene. "He didn't do this. This is a message _to_ him."

"Well then you'll give him that message as soon as he gets to work. You've got this, Jane."

"Yea, I know," she said with forced confidence, but she half-smiled at him, thankful for the unquestioning way he looked up to her, as he had since they were children. He always had faith in her, even when she lacked it in herself.

Just then a car pulled up, and from the reaction of the workers, Jane knew who it was before she could even see his face. A gray-haired man stepped slowly from the vehicle, pausing to look over to the gathering of cops. His eyes met Jane's. No, he _looked_ for her; his eyes _found_ hers. He closed the car door, and made his way towards her.

"Steve MacAuley." She said it not as a question but as a statement of fact. "I'm Detective Rizzoli, Boston Homicide."

He nodded, unsurprised that she knew him, though not acknowledging that he knew her.

"You took your sweet time getting to work this morning," Jane prodded, poker-faced.

He mirrored her lack of emotion. "Had I know that all of Boston's finest were waiting for me, I'd have planned a welcome.

"Would you," Jane narrowed her eyes. "You think the death of a police officer is cause for celebration?"

"I wasn't aware an officer was dead. My condolences."

He was clearly not sincere, but he wasn't being sarcastic or deliberately provocative, Jane realised. He was simply... unsurprised. Or deliberately appearing unperturbed so as to keep up appearances in front of his men.

Jane cast a wary eye at the crowd, realizing that it had fallen silent and all eyes were on them. Whatever he knew- or didn't know- about the murder or about Maura, he wasn't going to say anything out here.

"Can we talk privately?" she asked quietly. She knew he wouldn't like being seen talking to the cops, but she also knew he wouldn't say what she needed him to out here. She had to at least create the opportunity for him to speak candidly.

His eyes swept over her once, appraising her as he appeared to weigh the risks and his options.

"Follow me," he said finally, and lead the way into the warehouse.

"Keep an eye on things out here?" Jane murmured to her brother, who nodded as he watched her follow MacAuley inside.

The building was silent, and their steps echoed about the cavernous interior.

"Pretty empty in here," Jane noted. "Business slow?"

He registered the implication; that this was perhaps not a real business at all, but just a front for other activities. He did not acknowledge the assumption.

"It's been tough in this economy."

He unlocked the door to his office and pushed it open for her. She glanced over at a stairway to the left which lead up to another floor, and what looked like another office above.

"What's up there?"

"Storage. Old files," he replied vaguely. "How can I help you, detective?"

Most men in his position would say 'officer'; would try to undermine her authority through not-so-subtle digs. But he seemed almost… respectful of her. Almost. Perhaps he was simply trying not to give her any reason to push him further.

"Where were you between the hours of midnight and 5am?" she didn't waste any time.

"Asleep."

"Can anyone verify that?"

He chuckled to himself in a way that suddenly reminded her of Korsak. She pushed the mental image away.

"Sadly no. I'm an old man. The days of sharing a bed are long-gone."

"I doubt a man of your standing in this- ah- 'community', would have any trouble finding a companion," Jane needled him.

He shrugged. "Call me old-fashioned. I grew up in the days of courtship and romance. I also have rheumatoid arthritis, back problems, and a hernia. So I can't show a lady much excitement."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "A lotta guys in your position wouldn't be too concerned about a _lady's_ excitement, so much as their own."

He smiled at her. "Like I said, I'm old fashioned. And with my various ailments, I'm sure you can understand that I also didn't spend last night hauling around your dead officer for use as a prop in this ridiculous piece of theatre."

"A little macabre for your taste?"

He snorted derisively.

"Who does this look like to you then? This is a message, right? And I can only assume, since he's in front of your place of business, that it was intended for you? Why do you think that might be?"

He remained impassive. "Let's cut the bullshit, shall we detective? You know who I am; you know where my allegiances lie. And you know that certain folks have fallen out of favour with other folks around here."

"Paddy Doyle and Colin Ferguson," she filled in the blanks.

He nodded.

"Ferguson's trying to rattle you."

He turned squarely towards her. "Do I seem rattled, detective?"

His use of her title was becoming rather less respectful and had begun to carry an edge of mockery. Jane set her jaw determindly. They were both talking in vague terms but they were fully aware of what, or more precisely _who_ , they were really speaking.

"No. You seem quite unshaken. Unsurprised; like maybe you were expecting this," she pushed, trying to trip him into admitting that it was Ferguson who had brought this attention on him- into admitting _why_ Ferguson would have done that.

"I've been around a long time. Very little surprises me any more," he said with a shrug.

He wasn't going to mention Ferguson, much less Maura. They may not be on the same side, but in this case their interests were aligned. But he clearly wasn't going to acknowledge that, and his careless and offhanded demeanor grated on Jane.

"Mind if I look around?" she indicated the rest of the warehouse.

"Be my guest."

She left the office and scanned the giant empty space, before turning again to the stairs to the left. "What did you say was up here?"

She remembered well enough what he had said before, but she gave him the opportunity to open up anyway.

He didn't take it. "Just old files."

She took the stairs two at a time and was in the dusty, dark room in no time. She flicked the light switch and the fluorescent overhead bulbs buzzed into life. As her eyes adjusted to the otherworldly glow, she took in the boxes of dusty files piled up against the wall, just as MacAuley had said. But then, on the far side of the room… a small bed, with clean sheets and neatly made. Jane felt the jolt of recognition as she saw it. This was Maura's room. Undoubtedly. She couldn't say exactly why; it was something about the way that area was kept so neatly; how the files and boxes had been carefully shuffled out of the way; the practical layout of the room- minimalist, only what was needed, everything in its proper place.

She pushed open a door to her left and found herself in a small washroom- clean again as before, in stark contrast to the rest of the warehouse; you could eat out of the sink, Jane thought, observing the startling white tile, set into a wooden cabinet. The room was empty, but something that had fallen down the side of the basin caught Jane's eye. She leaned down and reached in with one arm, bracing her shoulder against the cupboard and scrabbling with her outstretched hand until it came into contact with something spiky. A hairbrush. Long dark hair was caught in the teeth of the brush. Jane quickly pulled an evidence bag from her pocket and dropped the brush inside.

"Jane?"

She nearly hit the ceiling as Korsak appeared beside her.

"Jesus!" she hissed. "Don't sneak up on people like that!"

"I'm light-footed," he replied, ignoring her raised eyebrow as she stared incredulously at his less-than-stellar-physique. "What?"

"Nothing," she shook her head, trying not to laugh.

"What you got there?"

"Maura's hairbrush," she held it up to show him.

"Maura's?"

"Yeah," she led him back into the main room. "Look at this place. She stayed here- MacAuley was hiding her. And that's why Ferguson dumped a dead cop on his doorstep- to flush her out. It makes complete sense."

He eyed her doubtfully. "You sure that's hers?" he asked, indicating the evidence bag.

"DNA will confirm," Jane said confidently. "And while Suzie's testing it, I say we bring ol' Steve down to the station for a little chat."

* * *

"Who was living upstairs?" Jane slammed her palms down on the interrogation table.

MacAuley didn't flinch. "I have no idea."

"You have no idea?" she repeated incredulously. "You didn't notice someone living in the office space in your own place of business?"

He merely shrugged. "I never have cause to go up there these days. It's all just old files."

Jane could feel her frustration about to bubble over. She'd been at this for two hours already, and Steve MacAuley hadn't given anything up. She'd done the softly softly approach, played up the camaraderie, inferred the offering of all kinds of carrots and finally resorted to the stick, but to no avail. He was not intimidated by her, and she was at the end of her rope. She took a steadying breath.

"We're running DNA from the office; we know it will come back as a match for Maura Isles."

"Well you'll have your answer then," he replied simply.

Jane snapped.

"Where is Maura?" she yelled, slamming her palms on the table again.

"Jane-"

She whipped around to see that Korsak had appeared in the doorway. With a quick nod he indicated that she should follow him outside. She gave MacAuley one last hard look and followed after Korsak.

"We gotta cut him loose," Korsak said as soon as the door closed behind them, and he quickly held up a hand to quiet Jane's splutterings of disbelieving protest. "We've got nothing on him, and a whole bunch of other witnesses to interview from the two crime scenes. I know you want to find Maura, but we've got a cop-killer out there and Cavanaugh wants every available officer investigating."

"That's exactly what I _am_ doing, Korsak!" she muttered impatiently, raking a hand through her hair and then pointing assertively back towards the interview room. "He is right in the middle of all this."

"That may be, but he isn't giving us anything, and his lawyer's just showed up and is about to spring him loose anyway."

She swallowed a cry of frustration as Korsak pulled his best sympathetic face.

"We'll find her, Jane," he told her reassuringly, before heading back towards the elevators.

She took a breath to compose herself, and reentered the interview room.

"Well, it looks like our conversation is over," she informed MacAuley tersely, swinging the door wide. "You're free to go."

He slowly rose to his feet and started towards the door when she impulsively swung it closed again and took a determined step towards him. She thought she saw him falter briefly, but he quickly regained his composure.

"Just tell me one thing," she asked, drawing herself up to her full height and calmly holding his gaze. "Is she alive?"

She steeled herself for the answer, and he looked curiously back, as if trying to make up his mind about her. Then his face softened.

"I was there the day she was born you know," he told her quietly. "Paddy and I were working at the docks when he got the call. We were just starting our shift in the morning, and he rushed straight to the hospital- I told him it would be a while, but he wanted to be there. When my wife went into labour with our daughter, it took nearly 48 hours for her to put in an appearance. That's very like Helena though; she likes to keep everyone waiting and then make an entrance. Not like Maura; she was never one to be a bother. A quick and easy labour and she was ready to join the world by lunchtime. My daughter, she wailed like a banshee all day and all night for months; she could never get enough attention. But Maura was good as gold."

Jane listened in rapt silence at this unsolicited confession. He had a slightly faraway look in his eyes, like he was speaking more for himself than for her, and a smile played at the corner of his mouth as he relived the memory.

"It broke his heart to give her up. But he knew _that_ life was no life for a child. It wasn't the life either of us would have chosen for ourselves, let alone our families. My daughter stayed with me until she was five years old, and when her mother left and took her to live with relatives in England, I could have stopped her, but I chose not to. She didn't have the opportunities that Maura's had, but she had better than I could offer her here. She went to university- the first in my family to have an education. She's a lawyer now. And Maura- she has become such a fine and accomplished woman. She is very intelligent; very resourceful."

His reference to Maura in the present tense gave Jane hope. But before she could question him further he suddenly seemed to rouse himself from his reverie and remember where he was, turning to face her squarely.

"Please excuse the self-indulgence of an old man," he said with a sheepish shrug. "The further away from my youth I get, the more time I seem to spend thinking of the past."

Jane caught herself starting to smile at him, before remembering that he was a suspect, and carefully frowning instead.

"Paddy and I spent a lot of time in those days, commiserating and celebrating and scheming at an old Irish bar called Doolin's- you know it? It's been around for going on forty years now."

Jane nodded.

"Excellent whiskey selection," he smiled at her, and then he gave her a significant look. "And they make a first-rate filet mignon."

"At Doolin's?" she pulled an incredulous face. "The greasy old steak and fries place?"

He smiled again and raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes you get the best food in the places you'd least expect it. You'd be surprised the gems you can find in a place like that."

She looked quizzically at him and was just opening her mouth to respond when the interview room door burst open, and a tall, pale woman with cascading black hair was suddenly before them.

"Oh there you are!" she addressed MacAuley familiarly in a clipped English accent. "They told me you were free to go, but it did seem to be taking rather a long time considering you were just being shown out." She turned to Jane and appraised her skeptically. "Is there a problem, officer?"

Jane bristled at the slight, and at this woman's offhanded and yet commanding demeanour.

"That was my fault, dear," MacAuley responded quickly. "The old limbs just don't move as quickly as they used to."

She crossed her arms and pulled a face like she didn't believe a word of it. "Well, so long as you're up and moving now, shall we get on?"

He inclined his head in acquiescence, and she turned on her heel pausing briefly to address Jane again.

"Thank you officer….?"

" _Detective_ Rizzoli," Jane replied through clenched teeth. "And you are?"

"His lawyer," she flashed Jane a brilliant smile, "Helena MacAuley."

And with that she tossed her black mane and strode away, heels clicking loudly on the laminate floor as Steve MacAuley followed behind her.

* * *

Jane could barely focus on the rest of the interviews that afternoon. No one from the warehouse was talking, of course, they just sat staring at her in stony silence. And the only 'witness' they had from the scene of the shooting was a drunk who may or may not have heard shots being fired, and thought that he might have seen a red BMW drive by shortly after.

Jane sat at her desk that evening, rubbing her eyes tiredly and looking at the mess on the evidence board- the fifth of its kind to be wheeled in and stood next to the others which displayed the sprawling map of Boston's crime families.

But it wasn't just the volume of information to sift through, or the tensions in the department over the death of a cop, or how late it was in the day and how little sleep she'd gotten in the last 24 hours. Something that MacAuley had said was nagging at her; the way he had talked about Doolin's. She remembered the bar; she had been there once a long time ago. It was your typical dirty Irish pub- she was pretty sure the kitchen consisted of a deep frier and a microwave. Almost certainly none of the regulars would even be able to identify filet mignon, much less have sampled it at that fair establishment.

So why would MacAuley have said that?

"Frost, I'm gonna call it a night," she said suddenly, grabbing her jacket and keys as her tired partner looked up from his computer.

"Good idea," he responded. "I might head home myself. You need a ride?"

"Nah I'm good," she replied, already heading out the door. "I'm gonna stop somewhere for food on my way home anyways."

* * *

The bar was exactly where she remembered it; on an old street of largely boarded up storefronts and apartment buildings. Everything was quiet but for the noise of muffled chatter and music that drifted towards her as she approached the double doors.

The chatter fell silent almost immediately as she pulled the doors open and entered. The place was dim and dank, and a fog of cigarette smoke, ash, and stale beer hung thickly in the air. She looked around warily as all heads swiveled to stare at her. Squaring her shoulders, she walked purposefully towards the bar, and pulled out a seat. The wood of the bar was worn and sticky; she pretended not to notice, focusing on the approaching bartender who eyed her curiously as she sat down.

"Can I help you?" the man asked. He was youngish, but with weathered skin and rough hands which he was wiping on a dirty rag. Rows of half-empty bottles of spirits lined the wall behind him, glistening as they caught the light from dusty overhead lamps.

"Yes," Jane replied with forced confidence. "I would like to order some food."

"Kitchen's closed," he asked curtly, clearly preferring that Jane take her business elsewhere.

"Aw really?" she whined in exaggerated disappointment. "That sucks- I was really hoping you'd be able to help me out. See, I heard that you guys have just the best fillet mignon."

He looked like she'd just said she wanted a plate of lightly braised eyeballs.

"Where'd you hear that?" he kept his voice steady.

"Steve MacAuley made the recommendation," she replied evenly, trying to ignore the sound of her pulse hammering in her head.

The bar was eerily silent, and she knew that all eyes were on her. She was also keenly aware that she had come here alone, and not even mentioned to anyone where she was going, much less why. Stupid, careless- she cursed herself. Well it was too late now. The bartender was eyeing her warily, trying to make up his mind.

"MacAuley sent you?" he asked doubtfully.

"Yup!" she said brightly, watching him carefully as she spoke. "I saw him and his _enchanting_ daughter Helena just this morning, and he said, Jane, if you are ever at Doolin's you must try the food- it doesn't look like much, but sometimes you find the best things where you least expect them."

The bartender gave her one last calculating look, and then turned to a grizzled old man seated beside Jane. "Watch the bar," he instructed, before indicating that she should follow him.

He lead her past tables of silently watching eyes, out the back, and into the kitchen. He held his hand up for her to wait, turning towards an ancient service elevator and picking up the receiver of an old telephone that was mounted on the wall beside it. The persistent knots in Jane's stomach were rapidly giving way to bursts of adrenaline and cold sweat as she tried to make out his hushed conversation. It was foolish of her to come here alone- what had she been thinking? She had just waltzed into an old Irish mob bar, clearly identifiable as a cop, and basically told them Steve MacAuley would vouch for her. Well if anyone called her on that bluff, things could go very badly for her.

The elevator suddenly creaked and rattled into life, moving slowly down to the main floor. The bartender hung up the phone and- with some effort- pulled back the stiff elevator gate to allow them entrance. Swallowing hard, she followed him inside and watched him heave the iron gate back into place and press a button. The elevator whined into life again.

The time it took for them to ascend was time enough for Jane to imagine all manner of scenarios that she might be about to walk into, and not one of them was pleasant. There was nowhere to run; no easy way out. She was as trapped in this building as she was in this elevator, which continued up and up on it's long journey. Somewhere in the back of her panicked mind she remembered that the bar was on the ground level of an apartment building, and it seemed that they must be heading for the top floor.

Well, up was better than down- to some dingy basement out of sight, or into a waiting car, to be whisked away. If they were going to take her out, they probably wouldn't do it here.

The elevator finally shuddered and stopped. The bartender heaved the gate open again, and Jane found herself looking out into a dimly lit but nicely furnished apartment- much more nicely furnished than she would ever have imagined given the appearance of the bar downstairs. The floors were polished hardwood, the layout was open-plan, and large windows looked out across Boston harbour's glistening lights.

The bartender gave her a small nudge and she span quickly to face him. He seemed surprised at her sudden hesitance, and he nodded to indicate that she should exit the elevator. She did so warily, and he quickly dragged the gate closed behind her. She stood frozen, listening to the groaning of the elevator as it began its long descent, and waiting for her eyes to adjust to the low light that emanated from a few lamps in far corners of the room.

The sound of heels on the hardwood to her left caused her to turn quickly- and then she saw her.

"Maura?"

"Hi Jane."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: They'll actually talk in the next chapter, I promise. Also, for any Jaime Murray fans, yes it's that Helena :)


	8. Chapter 8

The sight of Maura took her breath away. Jane stared at her dumbly, unsure whether she could believe what she was seeing.

It had been a month since they'd had the briefest meeting- since she had first seen Maura in her changed form, and then watched as she was wrenched away again. So many weeks of trying not to think that her friend might be dead, doggedly working away at an impossibly layered case with no leads and so many dead ends, all in the desperate hope that she might be able to find her and bring her home. And now here she was. Jane could hardly believe it could be so easy. Well- she rethought that statement- not easy exactly. Until the moment she stepped out of the elevator she hadn't been entirely sure what she was about to walk into. But she had found exactly what she was looking for.

Her friend was alive. She was better than alive in fact; she seemed to be well taken care of. They could talk and Jane could get answers to all her many questions, make sure she was ok, get her home safely. Jane's head was buzzing with all things she wanted to say, and then… abruptly they were gone; they evaporated as she really noticed the apartment for the first time: the _apartment_. It was so different from the scattered desperation of the motel, or the sparse temporality of the warehouse. This place was so different, so… permanent.

Maura had changed too since the last time Jane had seen her in those frantic moments- she looked more like herself. There were still differences; there were dark circles under her eyes and her new hair colour was... not unsuited to her, but unfamiliar. It made her look like someone else. Her bangs had grown out and her hair was closer to its old length, but it was still a deep chocolate brown.

She was back to her full height, having adopted high heels again- but they were sleek black boots that reached almost to her knees. She wore black pants, a loose grey silk shirt, and a black jacket of carefully distressed leather. Her clothes and her demeanour had the richness of Maura about them; not like her on-the-run attire, in which she might blend in with any individual on the street. But she was lacking the colour and flair of Maura Isles- no splash of bright fuchsia in the fabric of her clothes, no chunky accessories, no pink lipstick. Her clothes, her hair, her eyes, were all dark.

Jane had the distinct impression that Maura had grown into her modified appearance; that she was adapting to her new life. And in that moment she knew that Maura was not coming home with her; she was settling in for the long-haul.

Her initial feelings of elation melted into misgivings. Maura saw her expression falter as she waited awkwardly for Jane to speak. When Danny- the bartender- had called up to tell her a tall dark haired woman was here to see her, her stomach had tied up into knots. She paced back and forth as she listened to the elevator making its interminably long trip upwards, twisting her ring nervously around her finger and taking measured breaths as she attempted to resolve the duel feelings of desperate relief and nervous anticipation.

But Jane's expression when she saw Maura, the joy that mirrored hers and then the way it changed as her eyes swept over her, taking in her appearance, filled Maura with foreboding. As they eyed each other uncertainly she felt the distance between them stretch out into empty space.

So Maura did what came most naturally when she felt off-kilter; she focused on the things she could control. She distanced herself and became objective. Observing the odd way Jane held one arm gingerly against her, she remembered with a jolt that it was due the shooting in the parking garage. She was surprised at herself for having forgotten even for a minute. The arm she had injured was no longer bandaged or in a sling but it couldn't have healed already, and Jane's posture indicated that it was giving her some discomfort.

"You're not wearing a sling."

Jane seemed surprised to hear Maura's voice cut through her thoughts and bridge the space between them. She glanced down at her arm, as if needing to check what might be the matter with it, and then remembering, shrugged with her good shoulder.

"Well I wasn't going to walk into an Irish mob bar displaying my physical weakness was I?"

Maura seemed to flinch a little at the description of their surroundings but she recovered quickly. "It's far too early for you to remove the support from your arm, Jane. The muscle is still healing. Did the surgeon use the Weaver-Dunn procedure?"

"He used the stitching-it-back-together procedure," Jane replied, somewhat incredulous that this was the first conversation they were having after being apart for so long.

"Let me take a look," Maura instructed, moving towards her and indicating a chair to her left.

Jane looked at her doubtfully. Maura stood much closer now, but still out of reach, her face a mask of professionalism. She acquiesced, slipping off her jacket and carefully removing her shirt sleeve so the doctor could get a better view of the healing tissue on her shoulder.

"Who operated on you, was it Dr. Sluckey?"

"Ew not of course not!" Jane wrinkled up her nose in disgust. "He was bad enough the first time around. 'How are _we_ feeling today?' ' _We_ seem to be in a bit of pain, how is _our_ shoulder doing?' Ugh- your turtle has better bedside manner."

Maura seemed unphased at her outburst, but Jane didn't miss the twitch at the edge of her lips as she automatically corrected, "Tortoise."

"This is healing well," Maura pronounced. "The surgeon has done impressive work- there will be minimal scarring."

Jane couldn't resist.

"Oh thank god!" she responded in an exaggerated tone that was calculated to make Maura roll her eyes. "I would _hate_ to have a scar- that would be so _ugly_ and my skin is so _perfect_ otherwise!" She flashed her scalpel-marked hands at her friend. "Oh and except for this one-" she lifted the bottom of her shirt to expose the place where a bullet had torn through her abdomen. "Oh and this one" she turned her head to highlight the place where Hoyt had sliced across her neck. "And this one-" she was leaning down to pull up her pant leg when Maura's laugh made her pause. She looked up to see the woman beaming down at her.

"Ok, Jane, point taken. I just thought you would appreciate some reassurance that you're on the mend. I know how agitated you can get when you have to give yourself time to heal."

"Me?" Jane feigned affronted wide-eyed shock, enjoying the way Maura smiled and shook her head in resignation.

"You're incorrigible."

"Yes, but we already knew that."

It was surprising how quickly they could fall back into mundane banter when there was so much more to be said, and yet the familiarity of it was a relief, and it eased some of the uncomfortable tension. The words were a cover; something to start the conversation while trying to figure out how to say what really needed to be said. Maura smiled and started to move away, and Jane felt a stab of panic as the tension began to fall again.

"Maur-" Jane said softly, reaching for her friend's hand before she could step too far back and add physical space to the distance between them. "I didn't come here for a check-up."

Maura stopped at the touch and looked down at Jane's fingers brushing against her own. She wanted so badly to return the touch. She had missed Jane. But she felt so ashamed of her recent actions, of the compromises she'd had to make. She wanted to keep Jane separate from all that. She wanted to keep Jane safe. But at the same time, with Jane here now, Maura realized how much she had needed to see her.

"You're ok?" Jane looked at her with an open face, big brown eyes.

Maura took her hand in her own and squeezed it. "I'm ok."

Jane held her gaze for a minute, giving Maura the opportunity to elaborate if she wanted to, but she did not.

"This place is…nice," Jane said finally. looking around the apartment.

"The decor is a bit… bachelor-pad for my taste," Maura pulled a face at the black leather sofas, deep red accessories and industrial furniture. "It was Paddy Doyle's. But it's an improvement on a storage room."

"You were staying at Steve MacAuley's warehouse."

Maura felt her heart rate increase in anticipation of the lies she might have to attempt. Of course the detective would have questions, and most of them Maura wouldn't be able to answer, either for Jane's safety or for her own. She chose her words carefully.

"Yes. It was only supposed to be temporary, but when it became clear that my situation wouldn't be resolved quickly, we began to look for other arrangements. The warehouse wasn't very secure. It was only a matter of time before someone came for me."

"You heard about the cop killing?"

The conversation was moving into dangerous territory. Maura couldn't lie, not to anyone but especially not to Jane. And if, in trying to avoid lying, she was too evasive, Jane would pick up on it right away. She carefully negotiated each question like she was performing a dance, giving out the information she could, in place of the answers that she couldn't.

"Yes, it's awful."

"The body was dumped outside the warehouse. We think Ferguson was trying to draw attention; trying to flush you out."

Maura shook her head. "He wants people to know that no one associated with me is safe. Not Paddy Doyle's people, and not even the authorities."

Ferguson hadn't killed the officer. But the men he had sent to torture and murder the FBI agent assigned to protect her had been calculated to send just that message. She'd heard it loud and clear, and responded in kind. She closed her eyes against the memory of Agent Forbes' broken body, and Sean Peter's desperate last gasps as she levelled a gun at his head.

"This is not your fault," Jane's fierce response cut through her thoughts. "You are not responsible for any of this. This is all Colin Ferguson. And we're gonna get him, Maura, I promise. He's gonna pay for what he's done."

Maura gave her a weak smile, hoping that Jane took her obvious discomfort as a reaction to her situation, and not from the half-truths she was having to tell about her role in the recent grizzly events.

Jane was choosing her words carefully too. Things were clearly escalating with Ferguson, and this was not a safe environment for Maura, whatever the woman might think. Jane needed to get her away from here, somewhere she could keep an eye on her.

"Maura, I want you to think about going back into protective custody."

"No." Maura response was emphatic. She dropped Jane's hand abruptly and crossed the room.

"Just hear me out-"

"No, Jane. There's no question. The authorities can't protect me."

"And you think these people can?" Jane gestured towards the elevator that lead back down to the bar, where Boston's criminal underworld sipped cold beers and smoked. "How do you know they won't turn on you? Why wouldn't they just turn you over to Ferguson and join him, if he makes their lives difficult enough? You can't trust them."

"I don't," Maura's tone was fierce. "But it's safer for everyone if I'm here. I saw what they did to Agent Forbes. I _saw_ it, Jane. I won't put another officer at risk. I will not be responsible for any more bloodshed."

"Maura-"

"Listen," Maura softened her tone and moved closer. "I know my situation is precarious. I'm aware, Jane. But I'm ok. And I know that you're doing everything you can to stop Ferguson. And that's what I need you to focus on right now."

Jane tried a different tack. "What if you leave the state? Just temporarily. Isn't your mother in France? You could go visit her-"

"I'm not running, Jane. If I run, Ferguson will get exactly what he wants. At least with me here Paddy Doyle has a representative on the outside."

This announcement caused Jane to double-take. "Is that what you are now?"

Maura sighed, trying to decide how best to phrase this.

"If you're asking me am I working for him? No, I'm not. I haven't spoken to him, besides to ask for his assistance when I fled my safehouse. But I am a figurehead. I know it- people look to me as Paddy Doyle's daughter. And if I leave now, his influence goes with me. I didn't ask for this, but I mean something to these people. As long as I'm here, there's a tangible reason to resist Ferguson, however symbolic that is in reality. And I need to stay because of what will happen if Ferguson is allowed to take control unchallenged."

Jane was very quiet as she processed Maura's words. When she finally spoke, she did so carefully.

"If your presence here is really as important as you say, Ferguson isn't going to stop coming for you. He's going to wanna take you out, and in a public way- make a statement."

"Well as you can see, Jane, I'm staying out of the public."

"So he put a dead cop right outside your door. It's a threat, Maura. To you and to anyone working with you. How long do you think it's gonna take for one of those goons downstairs to think he'll cash in on Ferguson's good will by bringing him your head?"

How could she reassure Jane without confessing to how embroiled she had become in Paddy Doyle's affairs? The risks she'd taken, the laws she had broken? Sean Peters, the dead cop, the frame-up of Ferguson that was surely about to come to fruition. The way that the men downstairs had looked at her when she entered the bar- with respect, because she was Paddy Doyle's daughter, and because her reputation preceded her…

"Jane-" she looked earnestly into Jane's deep brown eyes. "I know. I know you're worried. But you need to trust me. You need to let me handle things this end because there's nothing you can do. You need to trust that I know what I'm doing. Just like I'm trusting you to solve this case without me."

Jane sucked in a sharp breath at that last comment. Because honestly, working the Ferguson clan murders without Maura- with Pike instead- had been torture. Trying to gather intel from the FBI had been like pulling teeth. Trying to map the status of the members Boston's crime families had been a painfully slow process that had sucked up most of her time. And the bodies were still piling up in the morgue. And she hadn't slept in over thirty six hours. But Maura was looking at her with those big earnest eyes, believing in her, needing her to be on form even though her shoulder was pounding, and her muscles ached, and her eyelids were heavy, and she felt about as off her game as she ever had.

"I just don't know what I would do if anything happened to you," she managed weakly.

Maura squeezed her arm and spoke with all the certainty and confidence she could muster. "Nothing is going to happen to me, Jane. I'm ok. Just focus on the things you can control."

They looked at each other for a long minute, as if suddenly realizing that this was the first- and perhaps last- opportunity they would have to be in each others company for a long time.

"But how are _you_?" Maura asked suddenly. Now that the pitfall-laden conversation had been successfully negotiated, she allowed her mind to go to all the questions she had for Jane. "And how is Angela? Is she still developing her line of baked goods? And how are Detective Korsak and Frost? Did Frankie ever get his motorcycle running properly?"

Jane looked at her incredulously, and couldn't help but grin. "Really? You want to know about my mother's attempts to sell her baking and my brother's bike troubles?"

"Yes! I've been out of everything for so long. It's been so isolating. So yes, Jane, I want to hear everything. Tell me everything that's happened in the last few months. I would love to hear about some normal, mundane, daily events."

"Ok…" Jane settled back into the sofa as Maura excitedly reoriented herself next to her friend, so as to get a better look at her and ensure she didn't miss a word. "Well, my mom has been nuts as usual. She's still baking but since Tommy paid off her debts she doesn't need to sell brownies to pay the IRS any more. She's actually been working overtime at the station- well, everyone is at the moment, with the crime rate going crazy. So she's made it her personal mission to make sure every cop gets a square meal. Oh but she was so mad the other day because she was at the station late instead of babysitting TJ, and he took his first steps."

Maura gasped. "TJ's walking?"

"Apparently! I haven't seen it yet but Tommy said he definitely gets like two full steps before he sortof falls the rest of the way into Lydia's arms."

"That's amazing! He's several months ahead of the average age. He must be quite developmentally advanced."

"Must be that African baby mask I gave to Lydia. Guaranteed to raise IQ. She's been playing peekaboo with it," Jane said with a smirk.

"But wouldn't that improve her cognitive development, if she's been the one wearing it?"

"Oh well in that case it's not working at all," Jane replied with an exaggerated frown. "TJ must just be benefiting from the Rizzoli genes. I was very advanced as a child you know."

"Oh really," Maura gave her friend and amused look.

"Mhmm, my first word was, 'unbelievable'. I was interrogating assumed reality from a very early age."

Maura relaxed into the sofa as Jane regaled her with tales of life at the precinct, with stories of normalcy and the life she'd left behind. She laughed at Jane's exaggerated impressions and colourful descriptions. She laughed until her cheeks hurt from smiling and her stomach muscles ached and she realised that it had been so long since she'd felt anything like this. And somewhere in the back of her mind she was sad at how unfamiliar joy had become, but she pushed it away to focus on the moment, on Jane, on being here with her closest friend in the world. She lay her head on Jane's shoulder, and brushed tears of laughter from her eyes, and sighed and smiled.

Maura didn't remember falling asleep, but as she leaned into Jane as they cozied up on the sofa, some of the heaviness in her brain lifted and she allowed herself to relax for the first time in a long time.

Jane finally noticed that Maura was no longer responding to her sardonic remarks and witty repartee, and, looking down, saw her friend was sleeping peacefully against her. Jane's own sleeplessness hovered over her as she stifled a yawn, allowing her head to rest against Maura's as she closed her eyes for just a minute. She should go soon- it was late, and this was not a good place for her to let her guard down. But she was so tired, and the familiar scent of Maura's hair was so reassuring. If she could just close her eyes for a minute…

A noise at the door caused Jane's head to jerk up. Steve stood in the doorway. He paused for a moment, seeing the two women curled up together on the sofa, noting the way Jane's arm contracted protectively around Maura as her sleep deprived eyes searched in the dark.

"She's asleep?" he said finally, and then to himself as much as to Jane, "Good."

He turned to leave, pausing as something occurred to him. "No one will bother you here," he informed her. "Stay if you like."

He closed the door behind him. Jane's heart was pounding as she rested her chin against Maura's head, vaguely thinking that she should leave, but not wanting to go without saying goodbye, and not wanting to wake her friend. She wrestled with her indecision for a moment before the adrenaline rush subsided and exhaustion reasserted itself. She closed her eyes again, leaning back into Maura and falling into a deep, troubled sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Maura awoke the next morning the same way she always did: with in immediate sense of disorientation, confusion, and generalized anxiety. Where was she? This wasn't her home- what was going on? Then the details of her new reality would slowly come back; she was in a motel, a warehouse, Paddy's apartment; she was on the run; Ferguson wanted her dead. Today, however, it took a moment longer for her to place herself- she was on a couch, not a bed, and there was someone with her… She jerked upright, fully awake and panicked. The sleeping figure curled up next to her groaned, reached up a sleepy arm, rubbed her eyes. Jane. Relief and happiness flooded through Maura, and she smiled as the woman squirmed, trying to bury her face in the sofa and away from the bright morning light cutting through the blinds, her loose hair curling in her face. Maura resisted the urge to smooth it back, behind her ear. She was not generally given to unsolicited displays of physical affection, but Jane seemed to bring it out in her, being so hands-on herself in the way she communicated.

Jane was squinting up at her, watching.

"Hey," Maura smiled.

"Hey," came the sleepy reply. "I guess we fell asleep? What time is it?"

"Seven," Maura responded after checking her watch.

Jane sat up, massaging the crick in her neck and rolling her shoulders. "I should've left last night- I could feel myself nodding off." She gave Maura a rueful smile. "Sorry, I should have woken you; you could have slept in a proper bed."

"Actually that's the most I've slept in a long time," Maura replied, and from Jane's smile she knew it was true for her as well.

They stayed awkwardly on the sofa for a minute, both unwilling to make the first move towards the start of the day, trying to draw out the seconds suspended in this early-morning timeless space before the realities and obligations of life reasserted themselves.

"Well, I guess I should go…" said Jane finally, still not making a move.

Maura nodded.

"Are you sure…" Jane began again falteringly. "Would you reconsider… coming with me? Going into protective custody? I'd feel better knowing you were out of here."

"No, Jane." Maura's voice was tender but firm.

Unable to resist, she reached out and her fingertips brush Jane's cheek. She heard the other woman's sharp intake of breath and pulled back quickly, but Jane caught her hand and surrounded it with both of hers.

"If there's anything I can do- anything you need…"

"Just do your job, Jane. Put Colin Ferguson behind bars for a very long time."

Jane nodded solemnly, eyes on Maura's, as if making a promise. She had no idea how much Maura was counting on that promise, on Jane's tenacity and predictability. She must follow the trail of evidence Maura had laid out and arrest Ferguson, not so that Maura could be safe, but so that she could carry out the rest of her plan. A stab of guilt caused her to pull her hand away and she stood, distractedly smoothing out the wrinkles in her shirt.

"You'd better change, Doctor Isles," Jane teased as she slipped on her jacket. "You're looking a little crinkly there."

Maura grinned widely, partly at Jane's little jibe, but partly at the way she has addressed it. _Doctor Isles_. She hadn't been called that in a long time. It felt good. It felt right. It took the edge off the wretchedness of the situation, as Maura walked Jane to the elevator, to the exit, to the end of their brief reunion. At the last minute, Jane turned and pulled her close, wrapping her arms around Maura who clung back, then let go, stepping away. And then Jane was gone.

Maura took a steadying breath. Then she picked up her phone and called Steve to make sure everything was ready.

* * *

Jane's investigation continued to go the way Maura knew it would; the way she had planned it. First Jane would check in with Agent Dean to see what the surveillance team could tell her about Ferguson's whereabouts on the night of the officer's death. Agent Dean would tell her that they had lost Ferguson for part of the day, including the time of the murder, but FBI surveillance footage from earlier in the day would show Ferguson driving a car that matched the description the drunk had given at the crime scene- the same one that Maura, Steve and Connor had used to transport the officer's body.

Jane would take a team down to Ferguson's headquarters to question him. He wouldn't give them anything but they'd find the car parked on the street outside. A quick wave of a UV light would display the copious amounts of blood that had been splashed all over the back seat just hours earlier. An examination of the vehicle would show that the blood belonged to the murdered officer, and would also yield a partial but almost-complete fingerprint on the dash, on the back of the indicator- a spot that was often missed when criminals wiped a car of prints. It would be a match to Ferguson, and Jane would go back with a warrant to search his offices, finding the murder weapon which Connor had left there. Ferguson would be arrested by the end of the day on suspicion of murder. He might implicate Connor, but it was unlikely; Connor's involvement would only bring further unwanted attention to the reason for his lack of alibi- that he was up to his own illegal activities and needed the boy to create a diversion for the surveillance team. He would need to wait for a court date to have bail set, and it was the start of a weekend so that wouldn't happen til Monday, if there was anything available so soon. It could be up to five days before Ferguson was out on the streets again. That should be enough time for Maura to make her move.

Everything did go exactly as Maura had predicted. Jane gleefully slapped the cuffs on Ferguson, tossed him into a cell, and was just wrapping up to leave for the day, grinning from ear to ear and ready to dash straight to Doolin's to tell Maura the good news. She was barely able to contain her excitement as she repeatedly punched the 'down' button on the elevator, bouncing on the balls of her feet, counting through the numbers as the floors ticked by, bounding out of the elevator before the doors were even fully open, and then- She stopped dead in her tracks.

Someone was waiting for her in the lobby. Her mouth fell open.

"Casey?"


	10. Chapter 10

Casey was just about the last person Jane had expected to see at that moment, not least because he was supposed to be in Afghanistan. Not that she wasn't pleased to see him, she corrected herself guiltily. It's just that it really wasn't the best timing. She had to see Maura, had to tell her the good news about Ferguson. But… she reasoned, Maura would likely have already got wind of Ferguson's arrest, and it was pretty late- almost ten at night. And Casey had just flown in and come straight to find her; she sort of owed it to him to at least acknowledge his presence. Maura was safe; Jane could see her tomorrow.

But despite her resolve, she was distracted all evening. She zoned out over a late dinner at her apartment, found herself thinking about the case instead of paying attention as he told her about his unexpected leave, glanced at her phone enough times that he huffily asked her if there wasn't somewhere else she'd rather be. Well, not 'huffily' exactly; Casey didn't get in a huff about anything. In fact he was always almost inhumanly understanding. This, combined with her inability to focus on him, the man she generally referred to now as the 'love of her life,' frustrated her even further. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she be happy he was here? Did she wish he'd go away again? What sort of a person would wish her boyfriend away into a warzone?

That night she slept long and late, the exhaustion and worry of the last few weeks finally catching up to her as she let her body relax for what seemed like the first time since Maura had gone missing. When she finally crawled out of bed it was mid-morning. Casey had already got up and gone for a run, and she found him in her kitchen, about to toss an old jar of Marmite he'd found in the back of her cupboard.

"Hey!" she exclaimed loudly, causing him to freeze, hand hovering above the garbage can. "Don't throw that out!

"It's two years past its use-by date!" he said reasonably, though his tone only served to infuriate her more.

"Maura gave me that!" She snatched back the jar and replaced it on the shelf, bristling at his patronizing smile, his condescending shrug.

His paternalistic house-husbandry and general good-natured criticism of her lifestyle only got worse throughout the day, and she was desperate to see Maura. But she couldn't tell Casey that- no one could find out that she knew where Maura was. By late afternoon she was about ready to jump out of her skin, so she told Casey some story about needing paperwork from the office and set off for Doolin's. Of course he didn't question her. He was completely, infuriatingly understanding. Jane was a committed detective, and Maura was missing, of course her mind would be on work all the time. Jane smiled gratefully and tried to ignore the feeling of guilt niggling at the back of her mind.

* * *

Jane walked into the bar so distractedly that she barely noticed the looks she received from its patrons.

"Alright if I go back?" she asked Danny, not noticing his surprise as she pointed towards the kitchen.

"Sure…" he replied, though she was already half way across the room. "Just buzz up."

Jane picked up the receiver by the elevator and worried her lip as she waited for an answer, twirling the phone cord absent-mindedly around her finger.

"Yes?"

Maura's voice interrupted the buzzing.

"Hey, it's me. Can I come up?"

"Of course…"

Jane didn't notice the concern in Maura's voice, still too wrapped up in her thoughts. She heaved back the metal gate and impatiently jabbed at the up button.

Upstairs, Maura hurried to conceal any evidence of the plans she had methodically put into action earlier that day, shoving papers into desk draws, shooting Steve a panicked look as she stared about, wondering how they could get their little crack team of criminal masterminds out of the apartment before Jane saw them, when the detective was in the elevator they would need to get back to the ground floor. Helena herded the others quickly towards the fire escape and had just managed to get the emergency exit door closed when the elevator dinged loudly to signal it's arrival.

Maura waited anxiously, wondering what could have caused Jane to risk coming here again so soon, her brow furrowed in apprehension.

"Is everything alright?" she asked as soon as the doors slid open.

"Yeah-" Jane responded distractedly.

"Jane?" Maura prompted. "Did something happen?"

"What?" Jane looked up in surprise. "No, no, everything's fine. Better than fine- we got Ferguson. We charged him with the murder of that officer. He's waiting to have bail set now."

"Yes, I heard, that's wonderful news Jane."

"I just wanted to let you know," Jane replied. "So you're safe now. You can come home."

"Oh Jane," Maura replied gently, already feeling terrible for bursting her friend's bubble. "You know I can't. He'll have his bail hearing and someone in his clan will pay up and he'll be right back out again."

"He might not…" Jane said falteringly, starting to feel a little foolish for dashing over here. "I mean, he killed a cop. And he's a flight risk- the judge might not let him out. We can argue-"

"But until that decision is made, I have to stay out of sight. And you can't just show up here; it's not safe."

Jane looked at her with slowly dawning realisation. "Of course- sorry. Shit I didn't even think. I just- I just wanted to see you. You're right though I shouldn't have come, that was stupid of me."

Maura's expression softened as the detective shook her head ruefully, disappointed in herself. "It's ok. I'm- It's good to see you again so soon!"

Jane gave her a pained smile, now feeling very foolish for having let her feelings run away from her. That her need to see Maura had apparently been so strong as to completely override all rational thought.

"Do you want a drink?" Maura asked, surmising Jane's mood as she moved towards a bar on the other side of the room.

Jane gave her a rueful smile. "Sure- what've you got?"

Maura raised an eyebrow at her, indicating the overflowing bar on the other side of the room. "Anything you like."

"Wow," Jane said in amazement. "Now I _know_ this place was Paddy Doyle's- you'd have chosen a wine cellar."

Maura laughed as she pulled a beer from the fridge and turned towards an amply stocked wine rack in the corner.

"There's a bar downstairs- supplies aren't really an issue."

Jane smiled and accepted the beer as her friend uncorked a wine bottle.

"So," Maura settled in a chair next to Jane. "What's bothering you?"

"Why does something have to be bothering me? I can't just miss my friend?"

"You Corrugator Supercilii are contracting."

"My corrugated super-chillies are what now?"

"You're frowning."

"Did you know that we used more muscles to frown than to smile?" Jane teased, feeling better already.

Now it was Maura's turn to frown. "That assertion is actually highly contested. The University of Chicago Medical Center suggests that 11 muscles are used to frown while smiling requires 12. Besides which, the quantity of muscles used in generating a facial expression has no bearing on the amount of energy consumed by each muscle, and does not take into account the individual variability in facial muscles."

"Well, I see that life on the run has not cut into your fun-fact research time," Jane teased, taking a swig from her bottle and feeling herself start to relax for the first time all day.

"Actually Steve has been kind enough to acquire the latest copies of Scientific American and the Journal of Biological Chemistry."

"Oh thank heavens!"

Maura gave her a withering look as Jane grinned mischievously and sipped her beer.

"So seriously, Jane. What's going on?"

Jane studied her hand for a minute before replying. "Casey's back."

"From Afghanistan?"

"Mhmm. Got in last night. He's got two weeks' leave."

Maura worked hard to keep her face a mask of pleasant surprise, concealing the turmoil she felt inside. So Casey was back on the scene- that meant Jane would be distracted and might not pay too much attention to what Maura was up to, which was good. But on the other hand, that would mean Jane would be paying attention to Casey, a thought which gave Maura no small amount of discomfort.

"That's great," she managed, ignoring the prickling of hives at the base of her neck.

Jane looked unconvinced. "Is it? We had a pretty big fight."

"What about?"

"I don't know- he just does all these little things that bug me. He gets so domestic, but he doesn't check with me about anything. Just changes things around and starts meddling with my life without even asking."

Maura suppressed a sigh. So it was going to be one of those conversations. "Like what?"

Jane shrugged, not noticing her friend's reaction. "You know- throwing out old cereal. Putting things in different places."

"That does sound difficult to deal with," Maura responded with forced sincerity.

How many times had this conversation happened now? It seemed like every time Casey showed up Jane vacillated between being overjoyed one minutes and ready to throw him out the window. And Maura couldn't help but notice the little compromises that Jane always had to make, and how much she seemed to hate them. And yet, she continued to pursue this relationship. It made no sense to Maura at all. She simply looked forward to the date when Casey would leave and things would return to normal again.

"It is difficult!" Jane exploded. "I like my things to be where I put them. He just doesn't respect my space. And he doesn't respect my priorities. And he just shows up out of the blue and expects me to drop everything-"

"He probably doesn't get a lot of warning. He's at the mercy of the army's scheduling." Maura wondered vaguely why always seemed to be the one defending Casey.

"I know that, and I don't mean to be such a… Well such a bitch. I just- seeing him puts such a wrinkle in everything. I have to rearrange my plans and make time for him and stop doing other things…"

"That's called being in a relationship, Jane." Maura's tone was a little more impatient than she had intended. She bit her tongue.

"But shouldn't that stuff be easy? I mean, it shouldn't be a chore, right? To see someone that you're in a relationship with? It shouldn't be an inconvenience." Jane looked to her for reassurance.

"Maybe you just need to get used to giving up some control. I try to get you to do things that you don't want to all the time; give up coffee, go to yoga, eat kale, wear something other than a pantsuit..."

"Yeah but it's different when you ask me."

"Why?"

"I don't know, it just is."

Jane had a funny look on her face, like she was really considering the question for the first time. Her huge brown eyes gazed at Maura, whose stomach did a little backflip as Jane opened her mouth to give voice to a theory…

"Ahem-"

The unexpected noise caused the women to jump up in alarm. But it was only Steve, loitering in the doorway. He gave Maura a meaningful look. A look that was mindful of time, that said wrap this up now, we have things to do.

Though his look was meant for Maura, Jane seemed to get the message.

"I should go. You don't need to hear me whining about Casey anyways," Jane started towards the elevator leaving Maura trailing after her.

"Jane, no! Of course you can tell me about Casey. You can tell me anything. I'm always here for you- even if I can't be physically available." She heard the words coming out of her mouth in horror and flushed bright red, flustered, desperately trying to clarify. "I mean, not that I would be _physically_ available… with you… _to_ you. I just mean that I have to be _here_ , and not out there with you. But I'm still there. I still care."

Jane had stopped in front of the elevator and was looking at Maura with that expression she used so often, that sort of fascinated, bemused appreciation. That look that would always melt into the biggest smile that lit up Jane's eyes and cause Maura's heart rate to increase suddenly. She smiled back at her friend, as Jane reached out to touch her arm.

"I'll see you soon, ok? This is almost over. You'll be home in no time, I promise."

Maura nodded, watched as Jane stepped back into the elevator, and the doors closed once again. She felt Steve's presence behind her, and the weight that had temporarily lifted with Jane's presence settled back on her shoulders. It was time to get back to work.

"Ready?" he asked.

Well, she really had no choice, did she?


	11. Chapter 11

Jane sat in her usual booth at the bar, nursing a beer. The one she'd bought for Frankie was dripping condensation all over the table; she watched the droplets run down the edge of the bottle as she tapped her feet nervously, waiting. She checked her watch again, sighed in frustration. Where was he?

When Casey had asked her- sprung this on her- her first instinct had been to run to Maura, but she'd managed to stop herself, think it through, realize that Maura had bigger problems to deal with right now, and she couldn't just run to Doolin's again. Plus it was Sunday evening- only a day since she was last there, and hadn't Maura said it was dangerous for her to just show up? What if someone saw her?

So she had called Frankie. And he was late.

Just then he appeared at the door and hurried to the booth, apologies on his lips, already anticipating Jane's frustrated admonishments. And with Tommy straggling behind him.

"I know, I know I'm late! My bike wouldn't start- I think I spend more time fixing the damn thing than riding it. Tommy had to give me a ride over."

"It's alright, just sit down." She pushed the beer towards him and signaled for the server to com over as her brothers slid into the booth opposite her. She hadn't really planned on having a big family meeting to talk about this, and Frankie was generally the brother she'd go to for advice. But there was no harm in Tommy being here, so long as he kept his mouth shut around their mother.

Frankie took a swig of his beer as the server deposited a drink for Tommy, who was focused excitedly on Jane, ready to hear the news. He seemed so pleased to have been involved, Jane was suddenly glad he'd come along, even if she hadn't intended it. "So what's the big emergency?"

Faced with having to actually say the words, Jane suddenly became coy, embarrassed. Frankie noticed immediately. "C'mon Jane- spill already!"

She thrust her left hand towards them where the rock glimmered on her ring-finger.

"Holy shit!" Tommy exclaimed. "You're engaged?"

Jane snatched her hand back in alarm. "What? No!"

Her brothers' brows furrowed simultaneously in confusion. "No?" Frankie clarified. "Cos, that's what a ring like that usually means."

"Yes- I mean, that is what it means. Casey proposed last night, but I didn't say yes yet. I said I had to think about it. But I just wanted to see how it felt, you know, to wear it."

Casey had surprised her shortly after she had left Maura at Doolin's; called her cell, asked her to meet him in the park. She'd found him sitting on a blanket spread out under a tree, with champagne in a bucket and a basket full of food. The sun was setting and she felt light-headed, having not eaten all day, her mind still stuck on Maura and how much she wished she could see her, but aware that Casey was trying to be romantic and she should react appropriately. It was a sweet gesture. He was a good man. She was just too distracted to really appreciate it. But as she'd mustered up a warm smile and settled on the blanket with him, he'd pulled out the little box, and asked the question that set her reeling.

As she recounted the previous night's events, Frankie's face had lost none of its confusion. "Ok, so what is there to think about? Do you want to marry him or not?"

"It's not that simple," Jane let out a huge sigh of frustration. "He's been offered a promotion- to General. But it means moving away. He hasn't decided whether to re-enlist or not- to take the promotion. He says he will unless… I marry him."

"Wow." Frankie let out a slow breath as he took in her words, sat back, took a slow drink of his beer. His sister's face was hardly a picture of joy either. She seemed intensely conflicted. "That's… quite the ultimatum."

"I wish I could talk to Maura," Jane said distractedly, already thinking of excuses she could use to dodge her brothers and run over to Doolin's, despite her earlier resolve.

"Well you can't, and even if you could, I'd guess she's a bit preoccupied right now, being as she's running for her life."

Jane looked up in surprise at the bite in Frankie's tone. His expression was full of judgement.

"That's not what I meant," she growled at him.

"Of course it's not what you meant, but it's the reality. And I'm surprised you can even think about boyfriend-drama when your best friend's life hangs in the balance!"

Jane felt the heat rising in her cheeks and snapped back angrily. "I know what the stakes are, Frankie!"

"I know you do Jane. But I didn't think you'd rest until you'd found her- til you knew she was safe."

Jane felt some of the tension release from her shoulders as she processed the situation. Frankie didn't know what she knew- that Maura was safe, that she was alive and being taken care of. That Jane knew exactly where she was. Of course her reaction would seem strange to her brother. But at the same time, he was right. Maura was still in a terrible position and this was definitely not the time to run to her whining about her boy-problems.

"I know- I'm not. Resting, I mean. And I didn't mean it that way. I just- I miss her." Jane sighed deeply, her expression despondent. "She's not here, but life just keeps going. And I just want to talk to my best friend."

"Yea well, we all miss her. But that's not gonna get her back. We've gotta stay focused," he replied sullenly, sliding back out of the booth. "And I gotta take a wiz."

She watched him stalk away, her mouth hanging open. What had just happened? Tommy coughed awkwardly, bringing her attention back to the table.

"Don't worry about him- he doesn't mean anything by it. He's just worried about Maura."

"And I'm not?" Jane snapped, and was immediately sorry at the tone she'd used. This wasn't Tommy's fault.

"Of course you are. We all are. It's just... you know Frankie's always had a bit of a crush on Maura. Don't let it bother you, it's not serious."

"I know that," she responded defensively, wondering why Tommy would think Frankie's crush would bother her. And then wondering why it did bother her. She pushed the thought away.

"We'll find her, Jane," Tommy continued, reassuringly. "We'll get her home. And in the meantime, I know I'm not exactly famous for making good decisions in the relationship department-" He ignored her raised eyebrow "What I'm saying is, I may not be good at this stuff, but I know you, and I'm a pretty good listener, so if you need to talk this though, maybe I can help."

Jane smiled gratefully. She really did need to talk it out, and while the idea of talking about her love life with her brother was a little… icky, he was family, so he knew her better than most, with the obvious exception of Maura. And she needed to figure out why her relationship with Casey had suddenly got so complicated. It had been so easy before- she had been happy. But now, everything felt so off-kilter.

"I just don't know if this is all moving too fast, or if it's just me. I know I can be a little… stubborn." Now it was her turn to ignore her brother's raised eyebrow. "I like my own space, ok? I need my independence. It takes time to adjust and to fit into a relationship with someone, and I just feel like we haven't had time. We've known each other since we were kids, but not like this. We haven't had the chance to really get to know each others' ticks and preferences. Like where we keep the breakfast cereal, or how we like our coffee, or when it's appropriate to start doing each others laundry…"

"Wait-" Tommy interrupted. "You're really going to complain about him cleaning your apartment? You should send him over to my place."

"He washed my underwear, Tommy. My thongs."

"Ew- Jane! I do not need to hear about your underwear."

"Well just imagine how I feel!"

"Listen, Janie, and I don't want to get into details here because- well, you're my sister and it's gross. But I'm guessing he's… handled your thongs before? What difference does is make if they're in a pile of laundry or- you know- on you?"

"It just is different! And it's not even about the fact that he washed them, it's that it didn't even occur to him that it would bother me. He should know that about me by now, shouldn't he?"

Tommy shrugged. "You don't have to know everything about a person all at once, Jane. You just have to know enough to decide that you wanna spend the rest of your life learning all that stuff."

"But I think that's different. There's knowing everything there is to know, which, sure life would be boring if you knew all that at once. But people that you know really well can still surprise you. Like with Maura- I think I know her pretty damn well at this point. But that doesn't mean she doesn't still surprise me; look at where she is now. I would never have seen any of this coming. But I still know her. I know what she's likely to do and why. With Casey- I don't even know when he's gonna show up next. I don't know when or if he'll re-enlist, or be shipped out to Afghanistan, or even propose! It's not exciting, it's… unsettling."

Tommy suppressed a smile. This wasn't the first time Jane had compared her relationship with a guy to her relationship with Maura. He always wondered if there was something to it- whether her horror at his old crush on Maura, or at Frankie's current inclinations, might not be explained by Jane's own feelings. But if there was a deeper reason, Jane never acknowledged it. Then after a while he started to wonder if Jane even acknowledged the implications to herself.

"It sounds like you've already made your decision," he told her.

"What?" Jane looked alarmed. "No! I mean, I told him I needed to think about it. And I am- I mean I will. It's just not a good time. I have to focus on Maura right now."

"Then focus on Maura. She's your priority and Casey'll have to understand that. I'm surprised he thought this was a good time for a proposal- I mean, he seems like a pretty good guy, but his timing sucks."

"Well," Jane started defensively, "I'm sure it's not the time he would have chosen. He just has to make a decision about his career, and if our relationship is going to be a major factor in that, he wants to make sure we're serious."

"And what about _your_ career? Are you gonna give up everything you worked for to be with Casey? That just doesn't sound like you, Jane. You love your job."

Jane's conflict was written all over her face. "I do love my job."

"And you're great at it."

She smiled. "I am aren't I."

Tommy nodded. "I never thought I'd see you give it all up for a guy."

Jane was momentarily stunned. Is that what Tommy thought she was doing? Was that what she was doing?

Tommy caught her surprise and guessed its origin; this was a perspective Jane clearly hadn't fully considered. He decided he had to keep going. "You really wanna hear what I think?"

She squared her shoulders and took a swig from her bottle. "Yes."

"You won't hit me?"

"Tommy, just tell me!"

"Promise you won't get violent!"

"Oh for God's sake! I promise I won't hit you. Now come on- fix my life for me. Tell me what you think I should do."

He chose his words carefully.

"I think… that a proposal should never be an ultimatum. Marriage is something two people should only do when they're really sure about each other. And I think that whenever you talk about Casey, you seem… frustrated. You don't know how you fit with each other- you don't know how he fits into your life. And maybe you could work that out eventually, but you haven't had time. You've seen him for- what? A few weeks out of the entire year? When you're trying to decide if you're gonna commit the rest of your life to someone, you want to have those sorts of things ironed out. And if he just ignores that and tries to rush you into a decision, he's not thinking very clearly about your relationship, or your feelings."

Jane listened quietly, and remained quiet after Tommy was done. Her brother cringed a little, waiting for her to get mad, steeling himself to defend his words. If he was honest, he had never been a big fan of Casey; he didn't like the way he treated Jane, or how Jane became when he was around. But it was difficult to be brutally honest with Jane about her relationships.

"You're right," Jane said finally. "When did you get so smart?"

He grinned in relief, letting out the breath he'd been holding. "Well when you screw up relationships as much as I have, you sorta figure out what not to do."

"You are not a screwup," Jane admonished. "Maybe you didn't take the easiest or the smartest way, but you're happy with Lydia now, right? And you have TJ? You're doing good." She sighed. "I never really thought much about getting married. I didn't have wedding fantasies or anything. But I did think… I assumed that if I ever did get married I would be totally sure. There wouldn't be a doubt in my mind. And I never imagined a proposal like… this. I mean, it was sweet- we had a picnic and champagne and he got a ring. But the way he said it… It was an ultimatum. It was. And it made me feel so…" she struggled to find the right words. "Trapped."

He nodded. "I don't think a marriage is supposed to feel like a cage."

Jane groaned. "What's wrong with me, Tommy? Why can't I just be happy? I mean, Casey's a great guy and he loves me and he wants me to marry him. Why am I freaking out?"

"Casey wants a wife to keep his house on an army base and bring his officers mint juleps and homemade pie." Frankie had appeared at the booth again, and his unexpectedly harsh tone caught Jane and Tommy by surprise.

Frankie took a breath before trying again, rejoining them in the booth. "That's not you, Janie. Sure, you've got some pretty traditional ideas when it comes to family, but you're no housewife. We grew up in a pretty traditional home, with a pretty traditional family. But look how things turned out- mom and dad split up and dad tried to annul their marriage so he could get together with a woman half his age. That woman also slept with our brother and she's now the mother of his child."

"Hey!" Tommy objected loudly. "Don't talk about Lydia that way!"

"Yeah what's your point?" Jane frowned at him, still irritated from his earlier outburst over Maura. "That our family is completely screwed up?"

"No," Frankie held up his hands defensively. "Just that, sometimes doing what you feel like you're supposed to do, doesn't really get you anywhere. Look at mom now- she has her own business and she's with Cavanaugh and they're happy. And Tommy's making a fresh start with Lydia, and TJ is an amazing little kid. Sometimes life is messy, and sometimes you have to break with tradition. You just have to do what you feel is right. So it doesn't matter how good this thing with Casey looks on paper- if it doesn't feel right, don't do it."

"And what if it never feels right?" she asked in a small voice.

"Then you'll die an old woman with a hundred cats," he joked, then howled as she lunged across the table and punched him in the arm. "Ow! Alright! I was kidding! But seriously, Jane, if you never got married would you see your life as a failure?"

"No," she settled back into her seat, sulkily. "But I don't wanna be alone."

"You're not alone, Janie," Tommy spoke up. "You never have been."

She smiled at them, stretching across the table to take both their hands. "What did I do to deserve you?"

Tommy sighed. He hadn't meant them, although it was true that she'd never be alone because she'd always have family. But he had meant to imply that maybe Jane had already found the soulmate she was looking for a long time ago, she just hadn't figured it out yet. But as she grinned at her brothers, he knew his meaning had been lost on her. And it had likely been lost on Frankie too, if he was really still harboring feelings for Maura. Nothing like imminent danger to make you realize how you feel about someone, even if you're not ready to acknowledge it yet. Though it did seem to at least be prompting Jane to reprioritize with Casey.

What a mess, Tommy thought. When she finally figures it out, this shit is definitely going to hit the fan.


	12. Chapter 12

"Right well, I think that should just about do it," Helena pronounced, stepping back from the computer and running a hand through her mane of raven hair.

"I can access the BPD and FBI databases? And you're sure it can't be traced?" Maura joined her at the monitor.

"Not a chance," the other woman assured Maura confidently. "Hacking in was a doddle- these systems are never as secure as the government likes to think. Their security developers are just aren't as good as the fellows in private industry- the public sector doesn't have the funding to attract really accomplished programmers. And as for being traced, you're accessing their systems through a series of proxies based all over the world. I doubt anyone in BPD has the chops to even begin to run a trace."

Maura eyed her curiously. "And how exactly did you learn to do this? It's not exactly standard training for a lawyer…"

"I've always been good with machines," Helena replied with a sly smile. "Go ahead." She pulled out the desk chair for Maura, who observed the woman's chivalry warily, before slipping into the seat and beginning to type rapidly into the BPD database, navigating easily through the system to download all the files that related to her disappearance and the case against Colin Ferguson. Then she set up alerts to ensure that she would be notified of up to the minute developments.

She was aware that she should probably show more gratitude to Helena, but the woman unnerved her and so Maura defaulted to the cold, clinical interactions she was most comfortable with. It wasn't that Helena was unpredictable or a loose cannon- on the contrary she was often all business, and could adopt a cool and commanding air when she wanted to, as she did when interacting with the authorities or with members of Paddy Doyle's organization. Maura supposed that directness, that unnerving confidence served Helena MacAuley well in the courtroom, defending the indefensible. As Maura had watched her working away at the computer for hours, Helena had demonstrated a determined focus that Maura was very familiar with- the rest of the world seemed to drop completely out of site as the task at hand wholly occupied her consciousness. It was different to the fastidiousness with which Maura carefully attended to every detail; it was more like the a single-mindedness of Jane. If Helena had been similar to Jane in any additional respect, perhaps Maura would have warmed to her. But Helena had none of the seriousness of Jane about her, or the incredulity in the face of the unexpected. On the contrary, it was as if nothing shocked Helena; nothing phased her. She approached every setback with a shrug of the shoulders, a half-amused smirk, a willingness to deal with any development and to laugh at it. And not because she was genuinely amused or because her attitude was lackadaisical, but rather because she just could not take anything seriously. This was what most unnerved Maura about the woman; her whimsy, her constant flirtation, the smile always playing on her lips that seemed to belie the fact that the did not really care. How was Maura to approach a woman like that? She couldn't even begin to understand her.

So as usual, Maura was all business with Helena. The task accomplished, she moved directly on to the next problem.

"Maybe now I can finally get somewhere with this."

Maura produced the file she had stolen from Paddy Doyle's old office the night she had encountered Jane, the night she had finally done away with Sean Peters. She had been carrying this stupid file around with her everywhere, certain that it held evidence that would put Ferguson away, but never being able to find out much about the names listed inside, without getting access to the state and federal databases.

Now with Ferguson out of the picture, however temporarily, and Helena's tech skills granting her untraceable access to various law enforcement databases, she might finally have a chance to get some answers.

She began a search for the first name on the list, and sucked in her breath sharply when a match came back. It was an alias- this person was in witness protection. Not only that, but the gang member that their testimony had put in prison may not have been guilty of the crime; Ferguson had been the chief suspect until this witness' testimony had placed the blame solely on the incarcerated man. As she went through the list, reading case after similar case, a picture began to emerge.

"What is it?" Helena had been watching curiously as Maura typed in names and clicked through files in rapid succession.

Maura quickly explained her theory, which only seemed to gain credibility as she looked up more names. Paddy's list documented Ferguson's rise through the ranks. The names all represented people who had testified against someone else in a crime Ferguson had committed, and then gone into witness protection; or who had taken the fall for Ferguson and were now completing jail time; or in some cases, had been killed in unsolved murders. In each case, Colin Ferguson had risen in power as a result of the sacrifice of the people on the list. They were the reason Ferguson was in the position he was today, instead of behind bars. And that meant that, if Maura could find these people, or even just one of them, they could expose Ferguson and provide the evidence she needed to put him away for good.

"I think I may be able to stop Ferguson," she finished, her face lighting up in a smile of giddy relief as she turned to face Helena.

"Well that's excellent news," the woman responded with that familiar amused smirk. "Where do we start?"

Within the hour, Helena had their Doyle-clan crack-team reassembled, the names from the list distributed, and various men setting out to locate the owners of those names. Things were starting to look up. Everything was going according to plan.

"You look like a chicken caught out in the rain!" Helena laughed at her.

"What?" Maura replied, not seeing the analogy.

"Cheer up!" Helena whispered, cozying up to her and winking conspiratorially. "Your plan is working; at this rate, you'll have Ferguson banged up by breakfast, and you could be back home for tea!"

Maura open her mouth to correct the woman, and then registered the teasing tone, remembered Jane's lectures about not taking everything so literally, realized that Helena was basically never serious. She allowed herself a little smile as Helena sauntered off, indulging in the fantasy for a moment. She could really go home. The possibility was so real she could taste it.

* * *

Of course it couldn't last. Of course she had spoken too soon. First thing Monday morning, an notification from her computer alerted Maura to a new development in the Ferguson case. She stood at the console, checking through the feed as she sipped a freshly brewed espresso. And as she read the details, she felt the ground slip out from under her again.

When Dr. Pike had performed the autopsy on the dead police officer, he only compared the bullet that he recovered to the gun Jane had found on Ferguson's premises. They knew which weapon it had come from, they knew who the weapon belonged to, and they knew the crime that weapon had been used to commit. Pike didn't initially run the bullet through the BPD database to see if it flagged a match anywhere else. But unbeknownst to Maura, the week before some miscategorized paperwork from the lab had thrown Pike into a frenzy of fact-checking and retesting, much to the irritation of the other technicians in the lab. Had it not been for his fastidious double-checking, they might never have discovered the match. Weeks before, Pike had finally finished his painstaking autopsy of the two children who had been accidentally killed in a gang shootout. The processing of the bullets had predictably found no match, but when Pike ran the bullet from the officer, they did flag a match. They came from the same gun; the gun that was supposed to put Ferguson away for murder. The gun that belonged to Connor.

The flurry of activity in response to this development was much the same at Doyle HQ as it was at BPD. Jane had come in to work late, having taken a detour via the bank to lock Casey's ring in a safe deposit box, stopping for coffee and she and Maura's favorite spot, smiling at the thought that they might actually be able to go there together soon.

When she arrived at the office, she checked in to see whether a hearing had been set for Ferguson's bail; he hadn't been scheduled til much later in the week. Jane smiled to herself at the idea of the man being forced to sit and stew. She'd spoken briefly to the prosecutor who had been assigned the case, and he thought it was highly unlikely Ferguson would get bail at all, given his flight risk and the fact that he'd killed a cop. All in all, Jane was already having a pretty fantastic day by the time she arrived at her desk.

Right up until she saw Suzie Chang hustling up to her, a folder clutched in her hand. Jane frowned in puzzlement; Suzie hadn't tried to present her with any test results since Maura had been gone; everything went straight to Pike.

"Detective Rizzoli?" Suzie looked nervous. "I think you'd better take a look at this."

It took Jane all of thirty seconds to take in the results and realize their meaning. She tore off down the corridor, out to her car, and was flooring the gas pedal all the way to Agent Dean's office.

"Where was Colin Ferguson five weeks ago," she demanded as she barreled through the door, cheeks flushed, dark curls flying, eyes wild. She looked unhinged.

"What?" Agent Dean looked up, startled from his desk

"Ferguson! Where was he…" She checked the file from Suzie that was still had clutched in her hand. "April 23rd? Was he in Boston?"

"Jane," he started in with a tone of concern, but she cut him off with furious impatience.

"Was he or not? You've been surveilling him for months right? All over the country? So where was he April 23rd?"

Agent Dean seemed to finally be grasping the urgency with which Jane was trying to move him, but he still spoke calmly and reasonably. "Hold on, I'll check."

She bounced on the balls of her feet, worrying her lip as she watched him shuffle through his files, rubbing the scars on her hands in part from nervous habit, but partly to stop her from lunging across the room and snatching the files away. His slowness was excruciating.

"April 23rd-" he said finally. "Ferguson was in New Jersey."

Jane stared at him, not quite ready to believe what she'd heard.

"He was there all week," Agent Dean continued. "We had a couple of guys sitting on him the whole time. They recorded footage pretty much twenty-four seven."

Jane's shoulders slumped and she leaned back against the door frame, the wind completely taken out of her.

"What's going on, Jane?" he asked, that note of concern now more pronounced.

She wordlessly handed him the file with the ballistics report.

"I don't understand, what am I looking at?"

Her voice was much quieter when she finally spoke. "A report flagging a match between the bullets that killed a Boston Police Officer, for which we just arrested Ferguson, and an apparently unrelated killing a month before. On April 23rd, in South Boston."

He stared at her with slow understanding. "Ferguson couldn't have committed those murders."

She shook her head, smiling sadly. "That gun must have been used by someone else. Which means it may not have been Ferguson who pulled the trigger on the cop. We've got ourselves some reasonable doubt."

"Jane, his lawyer will have him out by tonight."

She felt like slumping down onto the floor; just allowing her knees to buckle and her weight to take her down. But she didn't. Because as exhausting as this goddamn roller-coaster ride had been, she had to keep it together. She had to warn Maura.

* * *

By the time Jane arrived at Doolin's the Doyle-team had long been aware of the ballistics report and Ferguson's impending release, and had put their own plans into action. The bar was dark when Jane tried the door, still being long before opening. She hammered on it anyways, hollering for someone to let her in.

Finally Danny did, and she shouldered past him before he could plant himself in her way. She ignored his shouts after her as she tore towards the elevator in the back.

In the penthouse suite everything was quiet, and Jane saw with a sinking feeling the emptiness of the place; the same hurried cleaning away of all things Maura that she had recognized in the warehouse. A noise behind her caused her to whip around, fists clenched, fully aware that this place was never friendly to her, and that it would be even less so without Maura here.

"Detective." It was Steve. He had been waiting for her.

"Where is she?"

"She's safe."

"She's not," Jane tried to steady her cracking voice. "Ferguson is going to be back on the streets tonight and he'll be coming for her."

Steve nodded. "I know. We're taking care of it."

"How?" Jane felt her frustration boiling over as she screamed at him, "Where is she?"

He shook his head. "I don't know." Jane looked ready to scream again so he spoke quickly but still calmly, cutting her off. "Really, I don't. But even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. It's not safe for you to know. And it's not safe for her. She's better off this way."

"You can't keep her from me!" Jane fumed, but Steve cut her off again.

"It was her decision."

Jane snorted derisively. "You really expect me to believe that?" she said finally, but her voice was smaller now, and full of doubt.

"Of course. It was her decision to go into protective custody with the FBI without telling you. And it was her decision to turn to her father for help rather than returning to Boston PD after Ferguson tracked her down. You find it so difficult to believe that she would have left of her own accord again?"

"She would have told me…" Jane trailed off.

"You're a liability, Jane." His voice contained no judgement. "She can't keep herself safe if she's worrying about you."

She frowned at him, wrestling with her emotions, trying to think clearly and figure out the best course of action but coming up empty.

"I could arrest you," she managed limply, without conviction.

"To what end? I can't tell you what I don't know. Go home, detective."

Danny appeared at the door then, silently menacing, enforcing the lack of any real option behind Steve's gentle suggestion.

Outside the mid-morning air was fresh and bright, a bizarre contrast to the dingy scene inside the bar and completely incongruous with the intensity of feelings bubbling up in her chest. Had Maura really left her again? They were supposed to be a team; they had always faced things together. Maura didn't get to just make decisions about what was best for the both of them. Jane was aware that anger wasn't the appropriate response; she knew why Maura had made the decision to shut her out, and she knew that it must have been an incredibly difficult thing to do, to isolate herself again. And yet Jane held on to the anger and the frustration and the hurt and directed it all at Maura, because she knew if she didn't, she would have to acknowledge the deep, paralyzing ache in her chest, and the almost overwhelming fear.


	13. Chapter 13

Jane was right in thinking that leaving must have been a difficult decision for Maura, but she didn't know the half of it, and Maura was determined to keep it that way.

The day before she had been adamant that she would not run again, that she wouldn't tell Jane to stop coming to the bar, that she wouldn't continue to compartmentalize her life. Everything had been going so well. They were making headway on their plan with Ferguson; they had found out who the people on the list were, and would likely have located someone within a few days. Meanwhile Steve was reaching out to the other crime families to see if they could help, to see if a truce could be reached over the common goal of ousting Colin Ferguson. Maura was finally starting to feel the possibility of an end to all this- there was absolutely no reason to send Jane away, no matter what anyone else thought. She had explained this to Danny in no uncertain terms when he'd raised the issue at the end of their meeting the day before.

"I just don't think a detective should be hanging around here so much. It looks bad," Danny had argued.

"To whom?" Maura snapped irritably.

"To the guys downstairs? To the people watching your back?"

Maura bristled. "I'm a police medical examiner, who did they think I spent my time with before I came here?"

Steve appeared beside them, hearing the warning tone in Maura's voice and attempting to smooth the conversation. But he didn't speak up for her; he agreed with Danny.

"That was in the past. Danny's right. Now, to them you're Paddy's daughter. You're Maura Doyle. And if you want them to keep seeing you that way, I'm afraid you're going to have to cut ties with Detective Rizzoli."

Maura couldn't believe what she was hearing; after all, he was the one who lead Jane to her in the first place. As she gaped at him, Danny took the opportunity to reinforce his point.

"Having her around- people are getting nervous."

Maura felt the edge of the threat. "No one touches Jane," she growled.

A nervous shadow crossed Danny's face, and he took an involuntary step back. "I'm just saying-"

"No one!" she snapped, ignoring him. She knew she shouldn't be drawing attention to her feelings for Jane but the words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "She's off limits; you make that clear to them, to anyone feeling 'nervous'. If I hear of anyone so much as _looking_ at her the wrong way…"

Danny shot Steve a look that wasn't lost on Maura. It was a look that said _I told you_. They had discussed this before. They had come to a decision without her. She felt the betrayal keenly as Steve tried again in his gentle, reasonable tone.

"Listen, Maura, I know you don't want to hear this, but if you want to keep her safe, she has to stay away."

Maura stared at him, fuming. " _You_ were the one who brought her here in the first place! She had no idea where I was- _you_ told her!"

He shook his head, regretting his bad call. "I thought it would be good for you to see someone from your old life. But that was before I knew…"

"Knew what?" she snapped.

"What you are to each other."

His words hung in the silence that followed. Maura felt the heat rising across her collarbone and up her neck, her skin prickling the way it always did before a she told a lie like, _I don't know what you mean_ , or, _Jane's just a friend_. She felt horribly flustered and out of control and it made her feel weak and vulnerable, which was the last thing she wanted to feel in this place, with these people. Seeing her discomfort, Steve spoke again, his voice soft, understanding.

"Ferguson will come for you sooner or later. I think the only reason he hasn't sent someone here already is those men downstairs. Things are too precarious; loyalties are strained. He will have to negotiate carefully, and we don't want to give him any room to maneuver, to bargain and make deals. We can't give our people any reason to doubt you. Now, I've almost worked out the details of your new safehouse-"

Maura balked at the suggestion of running again. Steve hurried to continue, ignoring Maura's look so he could get to the most objectionable part of the plan.

"It's just in case! We may never have to use it. But if we do, if you move to the new place... we don't tell Detective Rizzoli where you've gone. The less she knows, the safer it is for her."

Maura was horrified. She could not entertain the notion of losing Jane again. Having her closest friend here had kept her grounded, helped her feel a little less out of control, less rootless, less like she might float away. But Steve's words had sparked conflicting emotions; the need to see Jane and the need to protect her, the fear of not being able to do that. The responsibility of being Maura Doyle. She looked at their faces, waiting, expectant, and the fear and anger boiled up in her so she felt like screaming at them and like her chest would explode from trying to keep it in. But Maura Isles didn't lose control, and neither did Maura Doyle. When she finally spoke her voice held a steady, cold fury.

"I'm not running. This matter is not up for discussion."

She turned away, a signal for them to leave her. Danny opened his mouth to try again but Helena quickly hushed him. She had been watching quietly from the other side of the room with characteristic detachment, apparently completely absorbed by her work but taking in everything. They hadn't even noticed her appear at their sides until she waved Danny into silence.

"Let me talk to her," she told them, quieting Danny's protests with a look. The younger man swallowed his frustration and turned on his heel as Steve followed him downstairs.

Maura was pretending to be unaware of Helena's presence. She was done talking. She sat at her desk pretending to study her paperwork, not even looking up when Helena approached cautiously and stood in front of her, watching, waiting. She hated Helena's confident meddling even more than her carelessness and disinterest. She wished the woman would leave her alone.

"I understand what you're feeling," Helena said finally, deciding that Maura would not invite the conversation so she would have to push it.

Maura laughed a short, mirthless laugh. "Do you?" she said in a tone dripping with derision.

Helena was undeterred. In fact when she spoke again she sounded mildly irritated at Maura's disrespectful attitude. "I had someone like Jane once," she stated, in a tone that demanded attention.

Maura looked up, curiously. Helena had a strange expression on her face; she looked uncomfortable, like she did not want to share this information but felt compelled to, and didn't like it one bit.

"Not _like_ her," she continued. "But like what she is to you. That's what Myka was to me."

Maura had never seen this look on Helena; she wanted to know what it meant. But Helena looked away before she continued, as if it was easier to tell this story if she pretended she wasn't really telling it. Maura understood that feeling; the importance of not saying things out loud, so they wouldn't become real, so you wouldn't have to face them.

"She was my closest friend. She was the one person one person who knew me better than anyone else."

"Who was she?"

Helena took a deep breath. She looked tired, as if reliving the memory brought with it a pain that was hard to bear. "We used to work together, for a while. She's very good at her job. Determined, driven, fanatical even. She has the strongest moral compass of anyone I've ever known. She will _always_ do the right thing. Always follow protocol, never break the rules. Except when it came to me."

Maura was curious in spite of herself. "What do you mean?"

"I was her weak point. Her achilles heel. Myka has the biggest heart; she'll do anything to help the people she loves. And unfortunately, I was just... always on the wrong side of things. I tried to set things right, but things were always so complicated. With me right and wrong wasn't so easy to differentiate. She had to change the rules."

Maura caught the sadness that crossed Helena's face, and knew the answer to her question before she asked it.

"What happened?"

"I left," Helena said simply. "And I didn't tell her where I was going."

"But she must have been hurt!" Maura protested. "Or angry, or worried-"

"She's safe, that's all that matters." Helena touched Maura's arm in a gesture that was almost too familiar, but Maura didn't pull away. It seemed appropriate for this unusual moment of shared confidence. Helena was watching her carefully as she spoke again. "Ask yourself this, could you ever forgive yourself if something happened to Jane because of you? It's unthinkable, isn't it?"

Helena had left Myka to keep her safe, just as she was telling Maura to leave Jane. Maura felt the twinge of guilt. Was she putting Jane at risk by keeping her close? Was she being selfish? Jane would never see it that way, and she certainly wouldn't stop coming around voluntarily. So long as Jane knew where she was, the point was moot. Maura pushed the question out of her head, deciding to deal with it if and when she had to move again.

The very next morning she read the report which showed that Connor's gun had killed two children.

She wasn't aware of having made a decision to leave, it was simply immediately self-evident. Just as she didn't decide that she wouldn't tell Jane where she was going; it was always already decided.

It all happened too quickly, and she was too overwhelmed with feeling to interrogate her decision-making. She was filled with regret for the part she had played in keeping Connor off the streets. He had shot a cop, but covering it up had seemed like a necessary evil at the time, not to save a foolish boy, but to get Ferguson out of the way, to end the fighting, to restore some order and ultimately save lives. But the cop wasn't Connor's first stupid mistake, and now Maura was implicated in his misdeeds. She felt ashamed and afraid; she was supposed to be the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. What would everyone at Boston PD say if they knew? What would Jane say?

They could never know; this wasn't an error she could come back from, this lie could never be exposed. As furious as she was with Connor, she was committed to this course now; her fear of discovery would keep her going down this path.

* * *

Jane had the day from hell.

Everyone knew about the ballistics report. Everyone knew when Ferguson was released. Everyone watched her nervously and tip-toed around, like she might blow at any moment. Jane hated it. She felt like she was on display, like she was experiencing the most personal emotions publicly. She was short with Korsak and Frost, she snapped at Frankie, she even yelled at her mother, who yelled back of course. She went to the prison to be there for Ferguson's release, to see him, to make him see her, so that he knew she was watching him. Then his lawyer warned her that he would get a restraining order and lodge an official complaint if she continued to harass his client. Agent Dean tried to reassure her that the FBI would be monitoring Ferguson 24/7, but that was small comfort considering how easily he had given them the slip before.

She could only hope that Maura and Paddy Doyle's clan knew what they were doing. And having to cling to that hope had already driven her half-mad by the end of the day, not because she didn't trust Maura to take care of herself- she had already proven herself more than capable. And it wasn't that she didn't believe Doyle's people were up to the task; they were probably better suited to dealing with Ferguson than the cops or the FBI, having the advantage of operating outside the law. The real problem was that Jane had never been good at relinquishing control. She was a doer, and without a task, without being proactive, she felt frustrated and anxious and useless.

That feeling was not helped by the fact that she knew Casey was waiting for her at home, and right now he was the absolute last person she wanted to see. She stayed at work for as long as she could, but she quickly pissed off and alienated everyone around her with her negative attitude. Still, she stayed late at her desk, and they left her alone. But eventually she knew she'd have to go home.

Since her chat with Frankie and Tommy, she had become convinced that she didn't want to marry Casey. Now that Maura was missing again, she realized that she didn't even want to see him. She wanted her space, her apartment back, to be able to cry on her own and not have to deal with Casey, have to confide in him, have to perform the role of a girlfriend.

She wanted him gone.

The thought formed quickly and clearly, and she was surprised at the force of it. That couldn't be right; she was being rash because she was upset. She was unwilling to take her feelings at face value. But the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became. The thought of going home and not finding Casey there filled her with relief. He was a complication she just didn't need right now. But he wanted her to marry him, to become a permanent complication in her life. She couldn't stand it. All at once she made up her mind, and before she could second-guess herself, she was grabbing her coat and heading out the door.

* * *

Their conversation was surprisingly brief. He protested of course; he tried to reason with her, he shouted, got angry. But it was all over so quickly. She had underestimated his pride; he did not like being told 'no'. He was hurt, his ego wounded. He left not really believing that it was over; he left because they were fighting. He would be back, when she didn't call to apologize, when he started to realize that she might be serious, that she wasn't just upset about Maura.

It didn't matter; at least he was gone right now. Jane felt horrible at her relief, but she couldn't deny how great it felt to have her home back, to be allowed to be herself. She sat down heavily on her bed, exhausted, completely emotionally drained. Her fight with Casey had sapped all her remaining energy. She ached to see Maura. There was no one else in the world she wanted to speak to more right now. Her absence was palpable. Jane crawled under the covers, sad and lonely, reaching for the oblivion of sleep.

* * *

It felt like she had only closed her eyes for a moment, but it was pitch black in her room when she felt a familiar prickling at the back of her neck, suddenly aware that she was not alone. She snapped awake, sitting up, eyes searching in the dark as one arm flailed towards nightstand where she kept her gun. Her fingers found the cool metal and she jerked the weapon up, pointing it at the doorway.

"Jane."

The familiar whisper caused her to freeze, eyes straining towards the voice, hardly daring to believe it.

"Maur?"

"It's me, Jane."

"Jesus Maura," Jane let out the breath she'd be holding and quickly lowered her gun. "I could've killed you!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just couldn't risk alerting you- I couldn't risk anyone knowing I was here."

Jane barely heard the explanation; she was already scrambling up out of bed and across the room, intent only on getting her hands on her friend so she knew the woman was really there, was really real.

Maura let Jane pull her into a tight embrace but remained impassive herself; her arms stiff, her body rigid. Jane sensed the tension and stepped back, concerned, scanning Maura's face in the moonlight. In the gloom everything about Maura looked darker and more drawn and tired than before; her hair was black as night, her skin was grey, there were circles under her dark eyes.

"Are you ok?" Jane reached out to touch her face but Maura looked away.

"I'm fine," she replied stiffly.

"Maura, what's wrong?"

"I have to go; I have to leave again," Maura explained, her words firm as if anticipating a fight. "But I didn't want to just disappear without telling you. I didn't want you to worry. But I can't tell you where I'm going; it's too dangerous, Jane. I can't see you again."

Any anger towards Maura that Jane had been carrying around with her had disappeared the moment she heard her whispered name. Now she could see how difficult this was, how hard Maura was fighting, and the toll it was taking. She took her friend's hands and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Maura to sit by her.

"It's ok," she whispered soothingly. "You don't have to worry about me. I'll do whatever you need. I know you can take care of yourself."

At these unexpected words, Maura seemed to crumble; her carefully constructed facade was meant to withstand a fight, but she was not anticipating kindness and understanding. The guilt at everything she'd done swelled up inside her chest and she couldn't look at Jane, at her big trusting eyes, at her sweet, open face. She looked down, away, tried not to let the tears escape. She was so ashamed.

"Maura what is it?" Jane's voice was edged with concern at the way her friend had suddenly come undone. She pushed the curtain of dark hair back from Maura's face, smoothing the loose strands behind her ear and running her hand down Maura's back soothingly.

"There's just so much you don't know; things I've done that I'm not proud of. Things I can't take back. I can take care of myself, but at what cost?"

Jane was taken aback by this sudden rush of remorse, and wondered what on earth Maura could mean; what could she have done that would have upset her like this? Well of course it could be anything, she thought. She was living with people who killed for a living, who were killing every day; people who Maura used to put behind bars. Of course she would have done things that would make her question herself, that would weigh on her conscience. But suddenly Jane was struck with a thought that was so much worse. If that regret became too strong, Maura may not be able to do what she needed to. If she tried to follow the letter of the law, she may not survive this.

"Listen to me," Jane said fiercely, gripping Maura's hands in her own. "You're doing what you have to. Whatever you've done, whatever you have to do, you just do it, ok? We'll figure it all out when you're home, but right now, you just need to focusing on getting through this. Do what you have to do."

Tacit acceptance was more than Maura had hoped for, but this overt approval from Jane was beyond anything she could have expected; Jane for whom everything was usually so black and white, right and wrong. But now with Maura she was willing to concede that things were more complicated than that; there could be areas of moral grey. Helena's words rushed back to her. _With me, she had to change the rules._

She reached out and touched Jane's cheek, running her thumb across her high cheekbone, the tips of her fingers brushing back loose curls. She held Jane's gaze and the moment seemed to stretch out forever, til she felt that her fingers had brushed against Jane's skin for perhaps too long for people who were close friends; and that they had been staring into each others' eyes in an unflinching way that friends really never do. It really didn't feel like there was such a thing as personal space with them, the way there usually was between friends. Their borders were permeable; they slipped into each other so easily.

When they had first met, Maura hadn't really been sure what sort of behaviour was 'normal' in a friendship. Most everyone else she kept at a comfortable arm's length, in every sense. She didn't know if letting Jane get physically close to her in this way was how people usually interacted when they were emotionally close to someone, or whether this attachment, this easy connectedness, was something beyond, something more. The only thing she had to compare it to was her relationship with the rest of the Rizzolis, which wasn't easily understood either. There was an undercurrent of attraction to both Rizzoli brothers which complicated the friendship and familial bond she felt with them, though she did not feel as close to them as she did to Jane. And while she loved Angela-perhaps even like a mother- she still couldn't stand the woman's physical touch when she was upset, unlike how she imagined a daughter _should_ feel, whereas Jane's embrace was always welcome.

As she sat wondering, her eyes were unconsciously tracing the outline of Jane's features as if trying to burn every detail into her mind; her dark lashes, the way her eyebrows pulled together in an expression of concern, the angle of her jaw, the part of her lips. She let her fingers slip down to Jane's chin and ran a thumb across her lower lip. It was an intimate gesture; perhaps too intimate for them? She wasn't sure. It felt right, and Jane didn't pull away, although something in her expression changed, softened.

Jane felt like they were in some kind of alternate universe; the exhaustion and their bizarre circumstances made everything seem so unreal. And Maura, with her dark hair and her dark eyes, seemed almost like another Maura, similar but slightly different. Her touch was too familiar, too brazen, but also not unexpected and not unwelcome. Jane's stomach flipped at Maura's intense gaze, at the brush of her fingers against skin, at the way Maura's eyes dropped to her mouth. The butterflies were like the first time she saw Casey when he came back from Afghanistan, or when Joe Grant kissed her for the first and last time on the steps outside her apartment, or when Gabriel Dean had asked her if she wanted him to stay with her when Hoyt was terrorizing her again. But these butterflies weren't for a guy; they were for her best friend, and it wasn't the first time she'd felt them. Maybe it was the first time she'd truly acknowledged them. She took a steadying breath.

The sudden intake of Jane's breath brought Maura back to the present. She looked up to find Jane watching her intently, still not pulling away from her touch, but her skin was flushed and her pupils huge. A fear response? Maura wondered as she simultaneously noted the quickening in her friend's pulse and her tremulous breathing. Or something else…? This was inappropriate, she thought to herself, quickly withdrawing her hand. She had crossed a line; this was not how friends behaved.

Jane caught the change in Maura's demeanor, her rapid pulling away, saw her closing up, steeling herself. She felt a pang of fear as she felt Maura retreating, catching her hand and holding on tight, willing her to stay. Jane's mind was racing, painfully aware of the fragility of the situation, trying to think of something she could do or say that would show Maura how much she needed her to be ok, to do whatever she had to unflinchingly, and then come home.

Maura looked at Jane's fingers intertwined with hers, head down, unwilling to meet her gaze after that faux pas, the too-intimate gesture.

"Hey…" Jane's voice was a husky whisper, coaxing.

And then she was leaning towards Maura before she could stop herself, not giving herself a chance to second-guess the impulse. Maura's eyes met hers as the tips of their noses brushed against each other, and she saw green, not black; Maura Isles, not Maura Doyle. Jane hesitated for a second as they looked into each other; Maura and Jane, not a cop and a mob boss, not two strangers with nothing to lose, but best friends with a lot of history and absolutely everything to lose. Then Jane pressed her lips to Maura's, heart hammering against her ribcage, butterflies beating in her stomach, head spinning, arms reaching, fingers entwining, mind floating; in that moment the sensation of her mouth on Maura's the only thing that mattered in this world.

Maura stared wonderingly into Jane's eyes as she pulled back; pools of dark chocolate, or maybe espresso. Something rich and sensuous. Her fingers were threading through Jane's hair, a waterfall of ebony curls. Jane smiled bashfully. Or was it flirtatiously? For someone who was often gruff and surly, Jane had an uncanny ability to turn on the charm when she wanted to. Maura was so enthralled she barely heard Jane's words.

"Come back to me, ok?" Jane murmured in that deep throaty voice that would always turn Maura's legs to jelly. "Whatever happens, we'll figure it out. You don't have to worry. I'll be right here."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: homophobic slurs

Maura thought of Jane every day, all day, constantly. There were other things she should be focused on, far more pressing matters to be dealt with, but even as she worked hard to get things in order, Jane was never far from her thoughts. She wondered Jane was doing, wondered if she was thinking of Maura too, wondered what she thought of that night when she had taken Maura completely by surprise and pressed their mouths together in a kiss that made Maura feel dizzy just remembering it.

She wondered if Jane felt dizzy too, bowled over by the memory, heart fluttering, weightless and floating. She wondered if Jane regretted it, and willed that not to be the case. The not knowing was so unsettling, the enforced separation so maddening. Their relationship had undergone a massive shift and right at the moment when they most needed to communicate, they were completely unable to. Or perhaps it was _because_ of her unnatural situation that this had happened at all, bringing feelings to the surface that were usually buried under the mundanities of the every day. They had been pushed out of their comfort zone and forced to acknowledge things that they might never have otherwise. Or at least, that's how it seemed to Maura. She had no idea how Jane felt, and her mind ran wild with speculation.

Was it accurate to say that she had always loved Jane? Certainly the woman had an immediate effect on her; Maura remembered their first meeting, how she had reached over to pay for Jane's food in the BPD cafe, unaware that she was a police officer under cover in Vice. Jane was physically striking even under all that makeup; tall and imposing. She was direct too; when she had unceremoniously rejected Maura's offering, Maura had fallen back on the Google-speak that she so often used as a buffer, careful not to become flustered. Jane was very intimidating. Maura might have been afraid of her if she hadn't also been kind. Still a harsh word from Jane had always held the potential to reduce Maura to tears; she cared so much what Jane thought of her, and in those early days Jane often didn't seem to realize that. Perhaps she had no idea what she meant to Maura. It was lucky that Jane was open with her affection, and wore her heart on her sleeve, or Maura might have been floored by some of the harsh words that came out of her friend's mouth- the Rizzolis' way of interacting was so different to the careful composure Maura was used to in her own family. The freedom and volume with which they expressed themselves took some getting used to. But the passion with which they approached everything was such a draw; Maura drifted towards Jane like a moth to a flame.

Once, she had tested the waters with Jane. Just once, she had asked casually what kind of woman she would like, if she liked women. She wanted to know if Jane had ever considered it; hoped to prompt her into a revelation. But Jane's response had been disappointing; she said only that she would 'be the man'. The whole point was that there _was no man_. Clearly Jane was so invested in this heteronormative world view that she couldn't imagine a relationship between two women where a 'man' wasn't involved in some way. Maura had laughed and dropped it.

And yet, she wasn't the only one to wonder about Jane. She had heard the whispers around the station; witnessed the criminals who saw her pant-suit and her swagger and hissed _dyke_ ; caught the lingering looks of gay women. Despite her purported interest in men, Jane hardly ever dated them, even when they pursued her. She seemed afraid to commit to a relationship, but she didn't even really date casually either, not like Maura did. Maura figured she was simply more comfortable with her sexuality than Jane was. Maura experienced attraction freely, dated without expectations, didn't worry about labels. It was sort of ironic, she supposed, that the doctor who wouldn't guess, couldn't lie, and wouldn't commit to any label or descriptor that wasn't 100% accurate (sharp pointy thing?), should be so comfortable with uncertainty. But it made sense when you thought about it; Maura didn't like to create labels and categories and boxes that could be wrong. She would rather be uncertain than be trapped in a box that didn't fit.

Jane was the opposite; she needed to know what she was dealing with. She was so afraid of not knowing that she would happily use the wrong words and boxes and categories so long as it gave her something to work with. But how many possibilities did she cut off by approaching life like this? For Maura, the vastness of potential experience was fascinating, the journey of discovery alluring. For Jane, it was terrifying.

* * *

Jane could not get her mind off Maura, any more than Maura could stop thinking about Jane. Why had she kissed her friend? Was she a lesbian now? But she liked men; she had always been attracted to men, right? She had only ever dated men, only ever looked at men. Hell, she had recently almost got engaged to a man! Granted, she had instead broken up with him and made out with her best friend…

That sounded pretty gay. Pretty closeted-gay-lady. Jane hated that idea; she prided herself on knowing who she was. Her sureness, her boldness, her ability to do her job, was all possible because she knew exactly who she was and what she wanted. She had built her life around that certainty. She had built a career on trusting her gut and following her instincts. But hadn't it been her instinct to kiss Maura? It certainly wasn't her brain because it made no sense at all, to go against everything she had ever known or thought about herself.

So if that instinct was right, what did that mean? Did people just change sexual orientations? If people could 'become gay' then surely they could 'become straight' too? And that just didn't make any sense; everyone knows you can't 'pray the gay away'.

She knew what Maura would say; that human beings are complex, and sexuality isn't black and white, and attraction is hugely varied- probably has something to do with guaranteeing variety in the gene pool or producing offspring with new immunities or something. But then how does that work when you're dealing with two people who have the same sex organs and can't reproduce together? Not that reproduction was the only reason for sex. And not that gay couples couldn't have children- they did, all the time… Jane's head was beginning to hurt from overthinking. She felt like she was taking a crash course in _Gender and Sexuality 101_ , only the teacher was absent and the textbook was in French.

She vaguely wondered if she had never thought about any of this stuff before because it was easier to just go along with societal expectations than to try and unlearn everything that was drilled into her every day; by her family, by the movies, by the law itself. If women like men by default, then women liking women involved a whole other worldview that she had no idea how to begin to understand. Maybe it had always just been easier to say that being gay was something that was for other people. Nothing wrong with it, love is love. But for her, she would stick with what she knew. And what she knew was a whole lot of guys who liked her, and who she didn't really want to get involved with. Roles she didn't know how to play; relationships she didn't know how to negotiate.

It had always been easy with Maura though. Things had just… snuck up on her. They had fallen into a relationship so close to the kind of thing she was looking for with a man, and it had happened without her realizing it. She may have been a little willfully blind; she _did_ know that her relationship with Maura wasn't exactly typical. She had never had this sort of relationship with any of her other girl friends. And it was sort of a huge red flag that she knew she'd have to give a lot of it up if she married Casey; she wouldn't be having dinner with Maura almost every night, she wouldn't be sleeping over, they wouldn't go to movies on the weekends and host Thanksgiving dinners and babysit TJ together. These were couple-things, and they only worked when there wasn't a guy in the picture. Maybe that was why she had broken up with Casey; the stress of the Ferguson case was just an excuse, or perhaps a catalyst. But the reality was, she didn't want to change her life. She didn't want to give up what she had with Maura.

The thought formed clearly, and crystallized into certainty. Jane didn't know what label to put on this; whether she was gay, or bisexual, or fluid, or some other category that she hadn't even heard of yet. But she did know that she wanted it. And that was certainty enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I tried to write Jane's thinking the way I imagine she would work through something like this. She sees the world in very black and white ways, and she has a lot of heteronormative assumptions despite the fact that in her own life we see her breaking those stereotypes constantly. Partly I think that's due to poor/inconsistent writing from the R&I staff, and partly I think they're trying to appeal to a mainstream audience and so that involves reinforcing society's dominant narratives about woman and gender and sexuality. But I think it actually ends up making Jane a pretty interesting character, where she's constantly fighting against her own nature, trying to put herself in a box that doesn't fit and where she's very uncomfortable. So in this chapter she's starting to consider herself outside of the boxes and categories she's always lived in, and so her thinking is going to be quite naive at first, or at least pretty unsophisticated. I just wanted to make sure that's clear, because she thinks some pretty offensive things in this chapter, or at least I would be offended if she said them to my face, but I'm also aware that I thought like this when I was younger and it took me a long to time shed the heterosexist assumptions that I've been steeped in my whole life, and I'm sure the same would be true for Jane.


	15. Chapter 15

Connor MacAuley was missing.

This was a huge problem, and not one that Maura had anticipated, nor one she had the time for. When Ferguson got out of jail, Connor was supposed to leave town. That was the deal. Ferguson would absolutely be looking for him, and so would the police, and he was the only one besides Steve who could expose Maura's role in the death of the police officer.

Why couldn't the stupid boy have just left town like he'd been told to? He'd been given a car, cash, a new identity. All he had to do was get on the highway and head north to New York, or out west to where he said he had family in Northern California, or just about any goddamn place so long as it was out of the state. But Maura had just got word that the car he'd been given had just shown up abandoned in Ferguson's side of town, and Connor was nowhere to be found.

To make matters worse, the new 'safehouse' Steve had come up with was about as far from ideal as you could get. She was staying with her grandfather; the man who had once told her that it would have been better if she'd died as a baby.

Though she had initially hoped that he would do well in the retirement community she had arranged for him when he had been released from prison, it turned out that old-man Doyle had experienced something of a resurgence of his youth since getting out, terrorizing the nurses and support staff, making enemies of many of the retirees, and even trying to take a hit out on an eighty-year-old who he claimed had tried to cheat him at dominos. He would have been turned out onto the streets if it hadn't been for June, the sister of one of the other residents, and an old flame from Patrick's youth. They rekindled their romance when she saw him again, having come to visit her sister, Bunny. After that, Bunny got little attention, even as June came around more and more often. Maura suspected her grandfather had got himself kicked out of the home on purpose, so he'd have an excuse to move in with June.

The couple lived in an old but neatly-kept house in South Boston, just a block away from where Patrick had grown up, and right in the heart of old Doyle territory; loyalties here went back generations. It would almost have been the most obvious place for Ferguson to start looking for Maura, except that every family member in the city knew how much the old man hated Hope and his granddaughter, and even his son. They would never expect him to be harbouring her. Ferguson would be especially familiar with this animosity, having served as Paddy's right hand man for years and been privy to every harsh word and every grievance.

The reality was actually very different from the rumors, much to the surprise of even Maura. While Patrick wasn't thrilled at having his granddaughter in his space, she could see he was secretly pleased to have his home turned into a bustle of mobster activity. It made him feel important again, and brought back memories from his youth. He started off with his usualy grumbling and cursing; refusing to address her as anything but 'hey lady' or 'that woman,' but after Maura called him out with some carefully chosen words, he switched from open hostility to grudging respect. She had far less patience than the last time they had tangled. She had been a different person then, she reflected grimly; easily shocked and offended, easily hurt. Much had changed since that first meeting, and quite frankly she was disinclined to put up with any of his shit.

Now, as she barked orders and strategized with Steve and Helena in June's neatly-kept kitchen, she was aware of Patrick Sr regarding her with a little half-smile on his face. She reminded him of Paddy when she was like this, she knew. She hated the thought at the same time as she was glad of it. It made her situation seem less impossible, less insurmountable, to think that in some sense she had been born for this life. She would make a fascinating case-study in nature versus nurture, she thought, if she were removed enough from her own situation to find it fascinating rather than vaguely horrifying. It had to say something for biology; how quickly she was now taking to this life.

She pushed the thought away quickly, afraid to dwell on it; afraid of the conclusions she might come to. Right now she couldn't afford to start second-guessing herself. Ferguson was out and probably looking for her right now with murderous intent; even more so given the discovery of her failed frame-up. And her people kept returning with bad news of Paddy's list of contacts who had dirt on Ferguson; they were all thus far refusing to speak with her, and denied any knowledge of Ferguson or Paddy. And now Connor was missing. Why was nothing simple? Why couldn't just one little thing go right?

"Good news!"

She turned to see that Danny had entered the kitchen, flushed from having just run inside from the car.

"We've found Connor!"

"Where?" Maura demanded.

He turned back to the cell phone he was gripping in his left hand, obviously too eager to share these latest developments to get the full report before barreling inside. He held the receiver to his ear and listened intently, his face falling. "Shit."

"What?" Maura asked in a tone that suggested she really did not want to know.

"The cops have him."

Maura's blood turned to ice in panic. Why would the police be looking for Connor? Surely Ferguson didn't turn him over to them? Surely if he knew of Connor's betrayal, he would want to exact his own revenge; he wouldn't law enforcement getting in the way.

Danny was still listening intently to his phone, his forehead wrinkled with a look of disbelief. "They picked him up buying an illegal firearm," he reported finally.

"Oh for fuckssake!" Steve banged the table in exasperation, quickly apologizing when he caught June's look of disapproval. "That goddamn kid," he muttered, shaking his head.

Maura put her head in her hands. Why? Why was she surrounded by imbeciles? How long would it take for Connor to crack and confess everything? And even assuming he didn't, how long would it take for one of Ferguson's men to get to him, either in jail or on the outside?

Helena was already on her feet and heading on the door. "I'm on it!" she called, exiting swiftly. "I'll have him back here by dinner!"

"At least someone their shit together," Patrick muttered.

Maura gave him a withering look, but didn't disagree, taking a weary seat next to him at the kitchen table.

"I'll put the kettle on, dear," June patted Maura's shoulder affectionately as she rose to start preparing a pot of coffee. She was taking the appropriation of her home for the Doyle Family HQ remarkably in stride. Well, she had grown up with Patrick, Maura reasoned.

"You're never gonna get ahead of him if you're always on the back-foot. Reacting, puttin' out fires, letting him set the terms," Patrick told her in the soft tone he usually reserved for June.

"I don't see that I have much choice," Maura sighed. "He's the one with all the advantages; he has the men, the resources, the authority. The most I can do is stay hidden long enough to figure out a way to arrest him for his crimes and get him safely locked away. If I could only get those contacts of Paddy's to listen to me. But they won't talk; they know I can't protect them."

"Nah, you're still thinkin' like a cop," Patrick spat the word out with distaste. "You gotta start thinkin like a _Doyle_."

"Well I'm not going to have him killed!" Maura retorted in alarm.

Patrick chuckled to himself. "I'd like to see you try! You and your rag-tag group of outlaws holed up with a couple of pensioners in Southie."

"Well then what are you suggesting?" she frowned at him.

"You can't win on these terms. The board's stacked against you. You're outside the law, but you ain't one of us either."

"So what do I do?" Maura asked in resignation, not even bothering to question any more how she'd reached this point, where her previously hostile and estranged grandfather was now offering her safe-haven and advice on the 'family business'.

"You want to beat him?" Patrick asked with a twinkle in his eye. "Change the state of play."

Jane glared at her mob-wall from her desk in the bullpen. She had set about mapping the crime families with such fervor initially, but now the row upon row of faces felt like they were taunting her; a daily reminder of everything she was up against. Ferguson's mugshot smirked from atop the Doyle clan hierarchy. Across from him, emerging from a fork in the family tree, a split in the branch, a big question mark had been replaced by a picture of Maura. Probably Dean did that, Jane fumed to herself. Seeing their pictures facing each other like that just reminded Jane of how badly she was failing. Maura and Ferguson, facing off in a battle for leadership of the Doyle clan. Maura, who was wholly unprepared for such a task, and in the background, Jane who was failing at supporting her.

She wandered to the elevator and jabbed the button for the first floor on autopilot, vaguely thinking about getting coffee and something for a sugar rush from the BPD cafe, but subconsciously craving the familiar comfort of her mother's reassurances, though she'd never admit it. In the last couple of days her world had seemed to turn upside down. She'd almost got engaged and then broken up with her boyfriend instead; lost her best friend and then found her and kissed her and then lost her again; and completely failed at putting away the bastard who was responsible for this mess. Ferguson was free to go after Maura any time he wanted, and now they had an unknown killer who was responsible for the death of a cop and two children, plus god knows what else. And they had no way of finding him.

Little did she know that the man with the answers to so many of her questions was right under her nose, already languishing in the cells of the BPD. And perhaps she would never have known, had it not been for the familiar click of heels that caused Jane to look up as she made her way over to the cafe.

Helena MacAuley.

Frowning, Jane watched the woman step into the elevator, her face a mask of indifference as she tossed her mane of black hair and unhurriedly press the button for the lower floors. She's heading down to the holding cells, Jane realized with a jolt, quickly turning on her heel and bolting for the staircase. She made it downstairs just as Helena stepped of the elevator and strode purposefully towards the desk clerk.

Jane quickly ducked into the booking office before she was spotted. Not that there was much danger of her standing out; the place was a mess. The cells were at capacity and then some, with a roomful of sullenly handcuffed individuals sitting in the booking area waiting to be processed, and beat cops shifting around restlessly, anxious to deposit their charges and head back out to the streets. The BPD was overwhelmed; they had been for months, since Boston's crime rate reached new heights. The booking officers moved about frenetically, looking harassed.

"Can I help you?" the tired-looking desk clerk finally turned to Helena after hanging up his phone, which immediately started ringing again.

She gave him her most winning smile and Jane palms clenched reflexively, irritated at her unbridled confidence.

"I'm here for Connor MacAuley," the clipped English accent rang out.

Jane's jaw dropped. Another MacAuley? This couldn't be a coincidence. They were all tied up with the Doyles, and tied up with Maura. And if one of them was here in police custody, she might finally have a chance to get some answers.

"Hey! Psst!" she called surreptitiously to the desk clerk after he'd waved at Helena to take a seat while he found her client.

He looked over at Jane where she stood peaking around the doorframe, and stared at her like she'd grown two heads.

"Which cell is MacAuley in?" she whispered urgently.

He seemed to think about questioning her behaviour for half a second, before exhaustion took over and he clearly decided it was not worth the effort.

"2B," he replied tiredly.

"Thanks!" Jane beelined for the cells before turning quickly and running back to hide behind the doorframe once more, out of sight of the foyer in which Helena waiting. "Hey, stall her for me will you?" she whispered urgently.

He nodded in resignation as Jane tore back down the hall, on a mission to find this Connor MacAuley and get him into an interview room. Finally, she was going to get some answers.


	16. Chapter 16

"You work for Ferguson, right?"

Jane sauntered into the interview room where Connor waited nervously. Her sweet smile didn't disguise the predatory glint in her eye. She knew she didn't have a lot of time; things were moving slowly in booking and processing but it wouldn't take long for Helena MacAuley to grow impatient and start threatening the stalling officer at the front desk. Jane was already zeroing in for the kill; sussing out this guy, his weaknesses, what buttons to press. Two questions burned in her mind; what does this kid know about Ferguson, and where is Maura?

She pulled out the chair opposite Connor, still smiling congenially as she continued, "You drive his car, take him to meetings, that kind of thing?"

She could see he was already plenty unsettled by this beautiful detective with her too-sweet mannerisms, and he hunched in on himself protectively.

"Or is it Paddy Doyle you work for? You're a MacAuley, right? Related to Steve MacAuley? So, how does that work?" Jane asked as if in genuine interest. "Must be tough, to choose between your family and the guy who's taken control of the business. I guess either way, you've betrayed someone, right? I can see why you would've been buying a gun. A man in your position can't be too careful; you probably have people on all sides coming for you. You've gotta protect yourself."

He eyed her uncomfortably.

"But you screwed up, didn't you Connor? Because now you're stuck in here with me. And you violated your parole by purchasing an illegal firearm, so really you're just two minutes away from being sent back down. And there's a lot of Paddy Doyle's people in prison. Which side did you decide to be loyal to? I hope you made the right choice…"

"What do you want from me?"

She could tell from the way his voice caught that was scared. He was just a kid in his early twenties. Probably just starting his criminal career, trying to be noticed, waiting for his big shot. And now here he was, scared and helpless and not knowing where to turn. Luckily, she had some options for him.

"Well, see today's your lucky day, Connor. Because all I want from you is some information. A man in your position, working with Ferguson everyday, driving him around, running his errands? Well you must get to see a lot of what he gets up to; where he goes, who he sees."

"Not really," Connor replied defensively. "I just drive is all."

"Ah, I see," Jane feigned disappointment. "Well that's a real shame. See, was hoping that we could cut a deal; you help me out, tell me what you know, and I'll overlook this little misunderstanding about the gun you were trying to buy. You give us enough, maybe I can even get Ferguson off the streets and out of your way. But if you don't know anything, I guess I'll just have you charged with possession and you can see how you fair in jail with Paddy's people. Or maybe I'll keep you here a while longer, before I put you back on the streets; see what Ferguson's people think about the fact that you spent the afternoon hanging out at the BPD…"

"I guess I might know something," Connor interjected hastily. "What dyou wanna know?"

"A cop was murdered down by the docks. His body was left outside of Steve MacAuley's warehouse. He's your uncle, right?"

The boy's face had turned pale and he looked like he might be sick. Jane forged onward, knowing she was on the right track.

"We think that was Ferguson, trying to send a message to anyone loyal to the Doyles, and to Maura Isles. A message saying that the cops can't protect her because we're not safe either. You understand that we can't let that kind of message go. The guys who work here, they want blood; they need Ferguson to answer for what he's done. You don't kill cops and get away with it."

Connor was still wound as tight as a drum but his face relaxed a little, and he looked less like he was about to puke. Almost like he was relieved… Jane frowned at him but was quickly distracted when Connor spoke.

"I don't know anything about all that. Sure I drove him that day, but then he took his car and went off on his own. I guess maybe he killed that cop? I don't know- I wasn't there."

Jane's face darkened. "Well that's a shame. It sounds like you don't have anything useful for me, then."

"Sure I do!" he hastily responded. "Just not about that. But I know things that would be useful about Ferguson. About Maura Doyle, too!"

He must have caught the way Jane tensed at Maura's name, like she was going to spring across the table and shake the information out of him, because he flinched away instinctively. She forced herself to keep her voice level as she growled, "You'd better start talking."

"I need some assurances first." His voice shook and the pitch was too high to make his demands convincing. "Immunity."

"From what?" Jane growled again, losing patience.

"Everything," he said vaguely. "Anything I say, you can't use it against me. Otherwise, how can I help you out without incriminating myself?"

"Maura Isles is the only thing I care about here," Jane responded coaxingly, tamping down her frustration. "I don't care about whatever petty crimes you might have committed, or who's loyal to who, or what your involvement has been with Ferguson or Doyle. I just wanna know about Maura."

She let him sit a minute, mulling over her words.

"If you help me, I can make things much easier for you. But if you don't, I can make your life very, very difficult."

He looked up in alarm at the threatening edge to her tonne. The way her eyes darkened left him in no doubt of her meaning. She smiled sweetly again, but it didn't reach her eyes and he squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze.

"So, what do you think, Connor? Can we help each other out?"

He nodded emphatically. "I wanna help. Like I said, I just need some assurances."

"Well I need to know that you have something worth my while."

He paused to consider this, the seconds ticking by in the silence, Jane sure that her time must be almost up, and that Helena would arrive at any moment and cut this interview short before she had got anything useful from the man.

Finally he spoke. "Maura Doyle-" he corrected himself quickly when he caught Jane's look. "Maura Isles- she's looking for people."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What people?"

"I'm not sure. She's got a list- I think she got it from Paddy? She thinks it will help bring Ferguson down. She's had people out looking for the names on the list. I think she's found some of them."

Jane frowned. If this kid was to be believed, Maura was working on a way to send Ferguson down; she had a lead on something he'd done, or maybe several things, and she was looking for evidence. Or witnesses? She ignored the disquieting thought of Maura mobilizing Paddy Doyle's people; of her father's men following her command. She needed to find out what Maura was up to- she was a medical examiner, not a detective. Surely Jane was better positioned to investigate whatever Maura had on Ferguson, if she could just figure out what that was.

"That's good, Connor. That's helpful. It sounds like we might be able to cut a deal. What else can you tell me?"

She didn't break her gaze while he took a long minute to consider his options. Then, just as he opened his mouth to speak, the door banged open.

Helena MacAuley stalked into the interview room with barely contained fury.

"This interview is over, detective. My client has nothing more to say to the police. And after the laundry list of violations of due process I saw while I was in the waiting room, I sincerely doubt that any of the charges you're bringing against my client will stick. Never mind the fact that you've been interrogating him without access to counsel."

"I'm sorry," Jane smiled sweetly at her, pushing back languidly in her chair. "I didn't realize you were his lawyer. We're moving a little more slowly than usual getting people processed; you might have noticed it's pretty busy out there. But I have to say I'm surprised; the great Helena MacAuley acting as counsel for a lowly footsoldier? And one of Ferguson's men, too! I thought you were on Team Doyle. Tell me, what's so important about this guy that warrants you coming all the way down here to bail out the opposing team on a pewny possession charge?"

Helena gave Jane an icy smile while Connor visibly tensed, eyes darting nervously from one woman to the other.

"I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice, detective, that we share a name. Connor is my cousin," Helena replied in a slightly bored tone. "He may be a 'lowly footsolider' as you put it, and he might be an idiot," she shot Connor a glare at this last part. "But he's still family. I'm sure you know something about that- Rizzoli's Italian, am I right? And Italians know something about family loyalty. I'm sure you have foolhardy brothers and cousins and uncles you've had to bail out from time to time. And so here I am. And now I'll be taking him home."

"Is that right?" Jane smiled, her eyes glinting at the challenge before turning back to the man sitting hunched at the table. "So you'll be heading back to the Doyles', will you Connor?"

His eyes darted over to Helena, who shot him a look that told him he'd just better fall in line right now. He looked away quickly, turning back to Jane, who just kept smiling like she was in on a great secret. Her lazy confidence was appealing, and clearly infuriating to Helena. He could see he was going to be in big trouble when he got back to Maura Doyle. But maybe if he made a deal with Detective Rizzoli, he could stay out of the clutches of Helena, and avoid Ferguson's men. Maybe he could figure his own way out of this mess. He didn't have to choose between the lesser of two evils; he could pick a third way. He made his decision quickly.

"She's not my lawyer."

"What?" The pitch of Helena's voice betrayed her failing composure. She quickly rearranged her face into a mask and tried again. "Connor, let's not be rash…"

"You're saying this woman doesn't represent you?" Jane pounced on the opportunity.

The boy swallowed nervously. "That's right. She's not my lawyer. I don't want her here."

Jane turned back to Helena triumphantly, cutting her off before she could loudly object. "You heard the man. He doesn't want you here."

"Connor, I cannot advise against this strongly enough-" Helena tried again.

"I said go!" Connor shouted, surprising even himself with the volume of his voice.

"Well, thank you very much for your concern, Ms. MacAuley, but your services will not be required from here on. I'll have to ask you to leave the interview room so that I can resume my investigation."

For a minute Helena's face turned so red that Jane was sure she was having some kind of aneurysm or something- Maura would know the proper term. But then she regained control and squared her shoulders.

"Let the record show that my client has not waived his right to counsel. He has simply stated his preference that I not represent him at this time. If at any point he requests access to counsel, you are legally obligated to provide him with a lawyer."

She turned her focus back to Connor and fixed him with a meaningful glare.

"And should you decide that you require my services again at any point during this interview, I will be waiting in the lobby."

Jane smiled sweetly at her. "Duly noted! I'm sure we'll be fine, though. Connor and I have come to an understanding, isn't that right?"

She beamed at him, before turning back to Helena, giving her a look that questioned her continued presence.

Helena narrowed her eyes. "We're not done, detective," she spat out as she opened to door to leave.

"Yeah, I think we are!" Jane called after her, before turning her attention back to Connor and giving him a big smile. "So, tell me more about this list?"


	17. Chapter 17

"Do you have him?" Maura snapped tersely into her cellphone.

"Don't worry, I'm handling it," came Helena's clipped accent in response.

"That's not what I asked."

"There have been some unforeseen developments that are making things a little tricky, but it's all under control. I'll have him back with you by this evening," Helena rattled off over the top of Maura's attempts to interject. "I have to go now, I'll call you later with an update."

"Helena? Helena!" Maura could have screamed in frustration.

Clearly something had gone wrong with Connor and the lawyer did not want to tell her about it. But what would she do anyway, even if she knew? Helena was the best at what she did and she was tenacious; whatever issue she'd encountered, she wouldn't rest until she'd figured it out. Still, it was difficult to relinquish control and put her faith in these people; although that got a little less difficult every day. Maura wasn't sure quite how to feel about that. She didn't exactly trust Helena, but she was coming to rely on her. She didn't believe the woman would 'have her back,' as Jane would say, but she was excellent at her job, and Maura trusted her to do it to the best of her ability. That would have to be enough.

Helena wasn't the only one on whom she was coming to rely. She'd been staying with her grandfather for a little over a week, and truly it was shocking how quickly he'd gone from being thoroughly put out, crabby, and more than a little insulting, to giving Maura unsolicited advice and an approving little smirk as she strategized with her people and tried to come up with new ways to outsmart Ferguson and get her witnesses to talk. If they were in any other situation, she might even be pleased at how much he'd grudgingly warmed to her. Though she'd tried not to care about the old man's approval, the truth was that she could never stand it when she knew people didn't like her; she'd always had an unconscious drive to win people's approval, perhaps compounded by how unpopular she'd been throughout most of her childhood. Other children had never been won over by interesting facts or her many achievements. They didn't like to play games with her because she took them too seriously and always won, and she'd never figured out how to let others win every once in awhile so they'd like her more. She'd always set her eyes on the prize, figured out the problem, and then executed the most efficient strategy for success. Patrick Senior seemed to find that trait appealing. She might not be a charismatic leader like his son, but she was a damn effective one, and he seemed to appreciate her ability to become dispassionate and detached.

They were settled in the living room, when it happened. Patrick was watching a Sox game on the tv as Maura used the backdoor Helena had set up into the BPD database to try and find out what was happening with Connor. June had gone out to the store to pick up some beef for the stew she planned to make for dinner. They sat in companionable silence, punctuated by Patrick's colourful remarks on the education and parentage of the umpire when he made a bad call. A couple of her men stood guard at the window. Steve was upstairs on the phone, checking in with various contacts. It was a quiet, humid afternoon.

The explosion ripped through the silence with a force that left Maura stunned and reeling. Her ears rang and everything seemed to be happening in slow motion through a fog, like she was a million miles away. Then she was suddenly aware that the fog was smoke, and that it was billowing out of what had a moment before been Patrick and June's kitchen, but was now unrecognizable. The smoke burned her lungs as she gasped for breath, desperately trying to make sense of what was going on around her. She saw her grandfather and made her way towards him. The heat from the flames in the kitchen was suddenly overwhelming. She heard Steve shouting from what seemed like far away, but when she looked up he was right next to her.

"We have to get out of here!" she managed to yell.

"No! Stay down!" he shouted in response as a hailstorm of bullets smashed through the window and cut up the sofa where she'd been sitting moments before.

She quickly pulled Patrick out of his wheelchair and down to the ground next to her, covering him as best she could. Returning gunfire rang out from the street as her men responded to the surprise attack; the squeal of car tires, more shots, and then Steve was pulling her up and hustling her towards the back door.

"Wait! Where's Patrick!" she shouted, looking back to see Danny hoisting her grandfather over his shoulder in a very undignified manner that made Patrick yell in fury. The younger man ignored him as he crouched in a low run and made a beeline for the backdoor.

They piled into the car as gunfire continued to sound from the front of the house. Danny threw Patrick into the back with Maura before jumping into the driver's seat and gunning the engine.

"Where's June?" Patrick shouted helplessly.

"I'll find her. You go!" Steve yelled in response, slamming the door as Danny pealed away.

Turning in her seat to look through the back window as the car sped away, Maura saw Patrick and June's house engulfed in flames.

* * *

Patrick and June insisted on returning to the house as soon as they were reunited. Steve tried to reason with them, to convince them it wasn't safe; Ferguson had made that abundantly clear. But they were determined not to be chased from their home. Patrick was furious that such a brazen attack had been made on one of the oldest members of the Doyle clan.

"No respect, these young ones now!" he fumed as June nodded, her expression dark. "No bloody respect for the old ways."

"I agree with Patrick," Maura addressed Steve. "I'm done running. Ferguson is never going to stop coming for me. He'll just keep chasing me from one place to another until I have nowhere else to go. I'm not doing it any more. I'm not running."

"Then he'll kill you," Steve said simply.

But he didn't stop her. They returned to the house that night to find it charred and dripping from where the firefighters had put out the blaze. The worst of the damage seemed to have been confined to the front of the house, but the smoke damage had been pervasive, and it was clearly uninhabitable.

"I'm so sorry, June," Maura whispered to the older woman.

She just tightened her jaw and fixed Maura with a look. "Don't you be sorry. You make him sorry."

It was a request she couldn't deny, and one she found she didn't want to.

"I will," she promised.

They got the breakdown of the afternoon's events from the neighbours. Maura's people had manage to fend off any further attack, and the car that sped away had taken heavy gunfire. Some said it looked like the driver had been hit. One of Maura's men had taken a bullet to the arm, but otherwise they'd emerged unscathed. Her people had scattered when the cops showed up, alerted to the gunfire by homicide's shot alert software. In fact, most of the neighbourhood had battened down the hatches in anticipation of BPD's arrival; since the officer's death weeks before, most officers were jumpy and heavy-handed, and no one wanted to be involved in an exchange with the police if they could help it. They'd knocked on doors and looked for witnesses. No one reported having seen anything. But that evening as Maura sat with her grandfather in a neighbour's house, a steady stream of well-wishers came by to give information, offer food and whiskey to commiserate, and with promises to help fix up the house.

Whatever Maura had thought of the old neighbourhood before today, it was clear that the folks who had lived here for generations had strong ties and loyalties. Patrick was still known and respected, and most people were appalled at such an attack on an old and respected member of their community. It seemed there were plenty of people still friendly to the Doyles, if only they had the power to really do anything.

Late that night, Maura sat nursing a glass of scotch on the porch of the neighbour's house, when Patrick came looking for her.

"Got a death wish, have you? Sitting out here in the open?"

"I don't think there's much danger of them coming back tonight. Ferguson's made his point. Besides, if he really wanted me dead, I would be. He's just trying to scare me."

"You think so?" the old man scoffed.

"I'm starting to think that's what he's been trying to do all along. He came after me in order to get to Paddy, but he didn't want to kill me; I'm the chief medical examiner with Boston Police, not to mention the head of The Isles Foundation. Between the Isles and the Doyles, I'm probably the most well-connected person in Boston. But then when he realized some men were loyal to me, and that he'd drawn the attention of the police and the FBI, he tried to scare me into submission. Now he's getting desperate, trying to run me out of town."

"And if that doesn't work? How long dyou think, before he actually kills you?"

She met his gaze, her expression cool. "I'm not running any more," she said firmly

"So what are you going to do, then? 'Cause things don't seem to be working out so well for you just now."

"I'll figure something out."

"Bullshit." She looked up at him sharply as he continued, "You know what you need to do."

"Well clearly you have some opinions." she snapped. "So tell me, Patrick, what should I be doing right now?"

"I already told you: change the state of play."

"I don't know what that means!" she cried out in frustration.

"Of course you do! Think, Maura. You're a smart woman." He sighed, seeming to summon all his patience, which at his age was very little. "You play chess, don't you?"

She nodded.

"So what do you do when you've lost all your strongest pieces, and all you're left with are pawns?"

"Make one of them a queen," she answered without hesitation, and then stopped short as his meaning became clear. "I can't," she shook her head emphatically.

"You don't have a choice," he snapped back tersely. "You have a responsibility to the people who are protecting you, to at least do them the same courtesy. And I for one am not going to sit around waiting to be blown up or shot up or set on fire by some disloyal punk, all because you don't have the balls to step up!"

He was smart. He knew exactly what to say to get to her. But even if she was willing-which she certainly wasn't- there was no way people would accept it. It was one thing for a few select people loyal to Paddy Doyle to risk their necks to protect his daughter; it was quite another to ask them to accept her as his successor. She had no experience running a 'business' of this kind, and she had some fairly obvious ties to the Boston police department.

"No one would accept it," she shook her head.

"They would take some convincing," Patrick agreed. "But there are people who would vouch for you. Those who have been protecting you so far; their opinions still carry weight in this community. And if my son names you, people will accept it- whether they like it is another matter."

"It will just push them towards Ferguson. They're loyal to Paddy, not to me."

"It's more complicated than that," Patrick dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand, gearing up for a history lesson. "You won't know all this because you weren't part of this world then, but when Paddy killed Tommy O'Roarke to avenge his son's death and to protect you, he started a major shake-up in the Irish families. O'Roarke's people scattered, but the Donnegal Family saw it as a challenge and they came after him with all they had. Paddy would've been finished if the other families had sided with the Donnegals, but right around that time, Micky O'Donnel and half his crew were busted by the feds, and Danny Boy Flannigan fell down a flight of stairs and bashed his brains out. It was a mess; lots of new faces, people fighting to be the ones to step into the void. And Paddy got a lot of respect for the message he sent with O'Roarke; for protecting his family."

"That's how he gained so much power so quickly," Maura nods, the pieces clicking into place. She'd never quite understood how her father had gone from being an old-time enforcer to the head of a clan seemingly overnight.

"Then Paddy got busted, and the vacuum opened up again," her grandfather continued. "Ferguson made his move when Paddy was in prison and there was no clear successor. You can't run a business like this when you're inside; Paddy should never have tried. He just didn't have anyone he could trust who was willing to step up."

"What about Steve?"

"He's loyal, but he doesn't have the head for a business like this. He doesn't have the vision. He's no leader."

"And you think I am?"

"I think we don't have a lot of other options."

It wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement.

"I don't know the first thing about how to run a... business like this."

"It's not about what you know- it's about who you know. And like you said, you're probably the most well-connected person in Boston."

Maura looked horrified. "I won't bring the Isles family name into this! There are people who rely on my family- so many charities, so much good work that would be jeopardized if my families business were to be connected with criminal elements."

"Don't get squeamish on me now, lady. The good Isles name was connected with 'criminal elements' the moment people found out who your father is. Never mind the fact that your Paddy gave you to your adoptive mother because of their existing relationship. The Doyles and the Isles go back to before you were even born."

He was right, but she'd already seen firsthand how much of Hope's good work had been threatened because of Paddy's dirty money. She couldn't let the same thing happen to the Isles. There had to be a way to keep these different parts of her life separate.

"Even if I accept all that, Paddy will never agree to it," she shook her head finally. "He gave me up to keep me out of this life. He's not going to just shrug and make me head of the Doyle clan after all the work he did to protect me from it."

"Well that's the first hurdle, isn't it?" Patrick gave her a knowing smile. "I think it's time you go visit your father."


End file.
